Exile Vignettes
by HanuuEshe
Summary: Short little oneoffs about my greysided Exile and her party. Well, mostly short ones... Warning for disturbing use of mind control abilities, violence, and sex sex sex.
1. Exile: Vrook

1Every Padawan had a tenant of the Jedi Code they wrestled with. For most, it is simply the passion and emotion that biology and society had conspired to instill in their teenaged minds and bodies. For others, particularly latecomers, it is ignorance: prejudices and religions that have planted falsehoods in their minds which are difficult to dislodge even with the mountains of evidence at their fingertips.

For her, however, it has always been chaos.

_There is no chaos; there is harmony._

The fundamental line of the Code, the cornerstone for the entire philosophy of the Order, and time and again understanding of it eluded her grasp. One had only to look at her to see it.

She lacked the measured grace that every other Jedi had mastered with the Sii-Cho form, jumping over and spinning around obstacles rather than neatly sidestepping them like her counterparts. She was tall and gangly, is even now, long after she had stopped growing and no longer in even her late teens, and she swaggered, sauntered, and sashayed, rather than running, jogging, or walking.

Her fighting style had the similar excessiveness about it. It was unpredictable, wild, and she never had two feet on the ground; either she was in the air, flipping, spiraling or somersaulting upon her opponent, or crouched with a knee and a foot on the ground, defending her improbable position with the same unorthodoxy she had with everything else. The element of surprise had won her more than a few battles in the dueling circle, but ultimately, much like the double-bladed weapon she favored, it came at the expensive of precision.

Her grasp of the Force was also erratic. She had a tenuous command of it, struggled to levitate objects and found it difficult to grasp the meaning of meditation. She was the only Consular past the age of five to have difficulty staying still for more than three minutes; her lack of concentration and preparation was painfully obvious every time she attempted to use any power- except her specialties, mind trick and mind control. She had no compunctions about getting into other people's minds, and said as much; this impressive skill was offset by the fact that she had often remark that talent with 'other people's heads is there because my own head is too scary for even me'.

Her speech was no better. Random, often going along tangents that had very little if any connection to the topic at hand, and there are times where you swear you've talked about three different things with her all at the same time. She moved her hands in unique patterns as she spoke, and would often interrupt herself, with 'take-backs', and shouted remarks to other people in the vicinity.

She generated disquiet. She was never openly rude, but knew just the right things to say to irritate people and keep them away. The only other members of the Order she got along with were the small exclusive group she belonged to that consisted of Kavar, Malak, and Revan, the blonde apprentice that used to follow her around the Enclave, and her own Master, Nemo.

And you yourself, of course.

Not that either of you were particularly good at showing it. She had this habit of dropping by your lessons, even after her Knightship was attained, annoying you with her flagrant lack of respect and her tendency to call you 'old man' rather than your name and rank, and attempting to co-opt your class. Every so often, you would let her, much to the class' delight, and your amusement as she proved that she was, in fact, capable of getting along with people very well when she chose to. You also called her a 'chaotic ticking time-bomb' and accused her of generating rebellion with her very presence (accusations which were not entirely unfounded) and she pretended to be deeply offended.

She was the closest thing you had to a daughter, and no matter how much you tried to discourage the bond from forming, you know that she came to regard you as a surrogate father.

And then came that day when the Council announced its judgment concerning the Mandalorian Wars. Revan stood up in the silence that followed and announced her intention to disobey the Council and fight anyway. Malak followed her immediately, saying that he could not stand by and do nothing while the Republic was destroyed. More followed; Knights, Padawans, even a few Masters defied the Council and left the Enclave en mass. And then she sidestepped retreating figures and said in a voice more clam then any she had ever used before:

"I've always believed the Council had greater wisdom than my own. And I still do. But being wise doesn't mean always being right, and I believe this is one of those times when you are wrong. I will fight."

And then, softly, but just as calmly "I am sorry for disappointing you, Master Vrook."

That was seven years ago.

She stands before you again today, unnaturally, forcibly still. There is the rigid calm in her voice as she speaks as there was the day she had declared her intentions.

"I came because I chose to come, not because you called."

And again, she speaks, as though the Council's words have no weight, no consequence.

"The truth is that if I had not done what I did, many more would have died."

And stabs her viridian lightsaber into the central obelisk with all the accuracy her technique has always lacked.

And then Eshe Jivala leaves the Order forever, an Exile without the Force to hide in, a blade to defend herself with, or, you fear, a soul to be redeemed.

Two quick, quick notes before I sign off.

1) My Exile is an experiment at storytelling with a truly reluctant hero- one who drags her feet to every planet and would just sit in a cantina and drink if the galaxy would just leave her the bloody hell alone. Even after she (eventually) resigns herself to saving the galaxy, it's less for the galaxies sake and more for her own. As such, I combined elements from a couple of characters you might recognize: Dr. Rodney McKay ( of Stargate: Atlantis), Dr. Gregory House (of _House, M.D._), Vala MalDoran (of _Stargate: SG-1_), Hester Prynn (of _The Scarlet Letter_), and Bridget (my almost-Goth friend). Consider yourself warned.

2) Part Eight of _Family Is More Than Blood_, is going to take awhile. My next Exile piece mutated from a five page monologue into a fourteen page monster, still isn't anywhere near finished, and I haven't even looked at poor Hanuu in weeks. My apologies.


	2. PreExile: In the Shadowlands

1It was a dark and stormy night in the Shadowlands of Kashyyyk.

But that was nothing new.

What was new was the sound of two ornery old men catching up on thirty years worth of missed arguments. They did so in a modest seven-room hut that was carved into the trunk and root of a titanic worshyr tree, surrounded by a small pool of light that spilled from the hut; outside the entrance to this hermitage, a woman in her late teens leaned against the wall with the practiced air of a long-time rebel. She was tall, skinny, and dressed in the robes customary of a Jedi Knight; strangely enough this seemed to compliment her devil-may-care attitude rather than clash with it. The door swung open, and another girl, this one younger, shorter, and darker, stepped out, chased by a few fragments of the tremendous argument within.

"- you're a reckless feckless hopeless mess, and if you weren't so stubborn maybe you could see-"

"See what? I am not one of your Padawans, and so help me if you start giving me crap about the darkside I'll-"

"Hey Revan," the tall greeted her companion.

"Hey Eshe," she responded dully.

There was the sound of someone retching nearby. Revan looked concerned, but Revan waved her off. "It's Malak. He made the mistake of eating that tach kebob Jolee served us for dinner, and now he has food poisoning. He's not happy about it, and there's nothing we can really do; best just to let him be."

Revan nodded, distracted.

"Speaking of the boys... how's Kavar doing?" Eshe asked nonchalantly. Rather than having the desired effect of masking her concern, her tone enhanced it.

"Fantastic. Fracking fantiastic. He's so fantastic that whenever he wakes up he gibbers about line-dancing rontos."

"Oh, so he's back to normal already then," Eshe commented with forced cheer. Revan sent her a look that could send Mandalorians running- and in a year's time, would. Eshe however, didn't even flinch; years under Master Vrook's unofficial tutelage had rendered her immune to any glower that did not come equipt with yellowed eyes and Force Lightning.

"This isn't funny, Eshe," she hissed.

"I know. But Revan, Vrook and Jolee said they had him stabilized. And you healed him even more after that. He's fine. He'll be fine. You worrying like this is only going to make everyone angsty."

There was a particularly loud shout from inside of "The run on the Utakis System was entirely your idea!" and Eshe saw fit to add, "Which might possibly cause the galaxy to explode."

Revan sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and mumbled the opening lines of the Jedi Code under her breath. In the outhouse, Malak retched again.

"Look Rev," Eshe said in a much gentler tone. "I know you and Kavar are close. I know you're getting perhaps a little bit closer than the Code really allows for."

Revan started "We're not-"

"I know you're not," Eshe soothed. "But there is something between you two... something that makes you a bit lighter and him a little more flexible." She paused, and then, smirking slightly, continued with, "And if you want my honest opinion, if you ignore the fact that you're sixteen and he's twenty-eight, you'd actually make a really cute couple."

Revan smoulder, as she always did when her physical immaturity became the topic of discussion. There was another yelp from within: "Well, I'm not the one who _married_ the prison guard!"

"Eshe," Revan began slowly. "Even if we were both thirty-three and normal people, it wouldn't happen. Kavar isn't really the type to get attached to anyone or anything. I don't think he knows how to be."

"_I _think that's what the call 'playing hard to get', Rev," Eshe informed her.

"And you would know this because..?" Revan demanded.

"I'm a full two years older than you; I have more worldly experience."

Revan snorted delicately. Eshe had been raised by the Jedi practically since birth, grown up in a very sheltered environment she had only recently realized was not the norm. Revan had arrived relatively late, and had almost a decade's worth of tough living, first on Deralia, then Corescant. In the younger girl's eyes, she had more worldly experience then she hoped Eshe ever would.

"Yeah, yeah. But most of it seems to result from you and Malak having jumped each other more or less the minute you were both of age."

Eshe started. "You aren't supposed to know about that!"

Revan raised an eyebrow. "And you're not supposed to forget to lock the door when you and Malak are making like particularly randy gizka."

"Revan!" Eshe exclaimed.

"Don't you 'Revan' me!" Revan exclaimed. "You know it's true."

There was the sound of breaking china from within.

"Hold that thought," Eshe grumbled, and stalked over to the door. She poked her head in; Jolee and Vrook were just visible from that angle, standing over a broken bowl and gesticulating wildly.

"Hey you two!" she yelled. "Leave off the wild sex while Kavar's recuperating, will you?"

There was a brief silence in which Vrook's face turned the shade of an overripe eggplant, Jolee's eyes went impossibly wide, Revan began to hit her head against the hilt of her short lightsaber, and Eshe sauntered quickly out of the line of fire. The resulting explosion was quick and deafening; she barely managed to close the door in time to avoid the later being literal rather than figurative.

"What did you do that for?" Revan whined, wincing at the volume of verbal explosion. "They're going to be like that for the rest of the night now!"

"Well, you're the one who wanted to talk about our forbidden love lives," she protested.

"No, that was you," Revan reminded her.

Eshe glowered. "Was not."

"Was too."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"You really are!" Jolee insisted from inside the hut.

"I very well am not!" Vrook asserted, sounding outraged.

Revan and Eshe looked at each other, then at the hut, then back at each other.

"That's just depressing," Revan commented.

"Yeah," Eshe agreed. "Do me a favor? When we get that old, let's not turn into them, okay?"

"No problem here," Revan assured her. "I'd hate to stick you with being the hermit who lives with the Wookiees for a decade."

"What makes you so sure I wouldn't end up as Vrook?" Eshe demanded.

"Because I know I'll end up as Vrook. I'm doomed to end up as the loud, stubborn Master on the Council. I'd just rather still be your friend too."

"So you're sticking me with self-imposed exile to the Shadowlands?" Eshe cried, outraged tone mimicking Vrook's perfectly.

"I have a headache," Revan groaned.

"Maybe you should stop beating yourself with your lightsaber then," Eshe suggested.

"You're right," Revan agreed, before whacking her friend on the upside of the head with her short.

"Hey!" Eshe cried, procuring her own double-bladed weapon from inside her robes and waving it menacingly at her fellow Knight. "Don't go playing that game with me, Rev, my lightsaber's a whole lot bigger-"

As she spoke, her hand accidentally slipped down the hilt of her lightsaber and pressed the activation button. Two viridian blades shot out of either end; the foremost one would have missed Revan's ear by several millimeters if she, feeling the need for a wider margin of error, hadn't activated her own violet shorto and used it to shunt Eshe's blade on the ground. The two women stared at each other for a moment, weapons drawn; one looked embarrassed, the other thoroughly chagrined.

"Sorry," Eshe muttered, deactivating her lightsaber. Revan followed suit. "Nervous twitch."

"I know," Revan replied with forced patience. "But for the love of all things choco-covered, could you please develop a twitch that doesn't involve nearly decapitating me?"

"Speaking of near-decapitation," Eshe drawled. "What was you and Kavar found in the woods that you wanted to tell me about before all those terentateks attacked?"

"What does that have to do with near-decapitation?"

Eshe seemed to think about that one for a moment. "Absolutely nothing," she decided. "But 'near-decapitation' does sound pretty neat, doesn't it?"

"Has anyone ever told you that talking with you is like acting in a Munti Krinath skit?"

"Yes. You have, several times."

"Well, I'm saying it again."

"You never actually answered my question."

"No, 'near-decapitation' does not sound pretty neat."

"Oo, you're avoiding the question! This must be good!"

Revan rolled her eyes. Inside the hut, Jolee paused for breath, giving Vrook enough time to bellow "I'm not the one who's hiding from the galaxy!"

"Aren't you?" Jolee demanded, equally loudly. The two men began to shout over one another, making their speech incomprehensible once more.

"So, you found..." Eshe prodded.

Revan sighed. "I don't know what it is, exactly. It looks like a galaxy map, but it's incomplete. A few planets seem to be highlighted- Tatooine, Manaan, Korriban and... Datooine. It seems to be built in the same style as those ruins out on the plains back home. And something I found in it's databanks suggests it pre-dates the Republic."

Eshe let out a long, low whistle. "Okay, now that sounds pretty neat." She stood abruptly, and began to walk away.

"Hey! Where're you going?" Revan called after her.

"To go find this Star Map of yours, of course," she replied. "You're coming too."

"Uh, Eshe?" Revan said, gesturing to the hut.

"Oh, come off it. They won't notice we're gone- like you said, they'lll be t it for the rest of the night."

"And Kavar."

"He'll be fine. He has the two old men to look after him."

"Right," Revan drawled. "And if they're going to be too busy fighting to notice us leaving, what makes you think they'll notice if his condition changes?"

"It's not going to changed," Eshe dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Because he's_ stable_."

"Did you just try to use a mind trick on me?"

"I take that to mean it didn't work?"

Revan threw her hands into the air. "Remind me again: why am I friends with a jerk like you?"

"Because everyone else just wants to be your adoring follower. Or Master. Or lover. Or some combination of the above."

"At least they listen to me."

"I think that might be part of the reason too," Eshe mused.

Revan sighed. "I'm not going. And since you don't know where it is, neither are you."

"So there?" Eshe mocked. Revan glowered again.

"Look, Rev," Eshe began. "There are a lot of very good reason why we should go take a look at this Star Map: we both know that if given half a chance, you'll worry this thing with Kavar half to death, we both know that anything that's that old and still function must hold something pretty important, and I'm having one of my hunches about this. And I know I don't need to plot the coordinates for you."

"No,"Revan admitted. "No, you don't." She turned around to face the outhouse. "And I suppose you want to come along too, Malak?"

"He's sick," Eshe reminded her.

"He stop puking ten minutes ago," Revan pointed out. "And has been listening intently to every word we just said."

They was a small scuffling noise, mostly drowned out by a cry of "You aren't the only one who lost family during the Wars!" from within. Malak emerged from the bathroom, pink blush staining his tattoos lavender.

"Whoops," he said sheepishly.

"You know, if you wanted to participate in our conversation, you could have just walked out of there when you were finished," Revan commented.

"Yeah, I could have used your help convincing little Miss Future Vrook here," Eshe added.

"You seemed to do just fine on your own," Malak complimented her. "Although, I might've added that part of your problem, Revan, if that you're too logical. You're so busy analyzing everything you never just act."

"You can't let the Force work through you like that," Eshe put in.

"Hey!" Revan protested. "I've already decided to indulge you, there's no need to double-team me."

"But it's so much fun!" Malak exclaimed, moving to stand next to Eshe and put his arm around her waist. They were both tall, but he was built like a dewback, and she like a krinath, a contrast that made them a striking couple. This fact would not go unnoticed by the media during the Mandalorian Wars, but for that moment, their's was a secret bond, and they reveled in it.

"Come on," Revan sighed. "If we're going to do this, we should get going now."

"Onwards!" Eshe cried jokingly. "To destiny."

Revan shook her head. "Don't be so melodramatic, Sheesh," she ordered uneasily. "It's not like this is going to be the defining moment of our lives or anything."

"You don't know that," Malak chided her. "Maybe this Star Map we'll lead us into something bigger."

"And don't call me 'Sheesh'," Eshe commanded.

"Yes, General," Revan quipped with a mock salute.

"Don't call me 'General' either."

And with that, the three teenagers stepped out of the light and were enveloped by the shadows.


	3. KOTOR2: In Which Atton Screws Up

Well...

That was anticlimactic. Get let out of cage by a tough-talking Jedi wearing nothing but a backpack and underwear... nope, wait, let me amend that, I'm not doing her justice. Get let out of a cage by a tall, skinny, nearly-naked Jedi...

Nope, still not good enough. You can't quiet get the picture from that, so let me elaborate a little. Close your eyes and try to picture this; my reluctant rescuer is about my height (a very manly 6' 3", thank you very much) and maybe- _maybe_- two-thirds my weight (a nice round 180 pounds, which isn't too bad for someone with my rippling muscles). Seriously, I can see her ribs poking out of her back. Or, at least, I probably could if her hair wasn't in the way- long, black, but with a weird sort of bluish metallic sheen that sort of reminds me of durasteel.

Oh- and her eyes? Silvery-green, slanted, and currently glaring at me. The whole effect is reminiscent of an icicle: something pretty to look at, especially when the light's hitting her the right way, but cold and sharp and more than capable of falling and braining someone to death under the right circumstances.

"I thought I told you to keep your eyes up," she snarls. Her voice has a very slight Seroccan accent, and a _very_ harsh edge.

"I would, but between being starved for three days and the sight of you in your current state of undress, I'm afraid I just don't have the will power not to look my fill," I inform her, leering cheerfully.

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "If I give you some food, will you look at something else?"

"You have food?" I ask, slightly hurt that she hasn't given it to me already. Aren't Jedi supposed to do stuff like that?

"I have food. And a vibroblade, and handful of stims and medpacks, a really nice ankle bracelet and what appears to be some high-quality porn. I have everything but the kitchen compacter. And clothes. Are you going to look somewhere else if I give you some?"

I look up to the ceiling in exasperation. A candy bar hits me in the face. So apparently, that should be 'Get let out of a cage by a stingy, angry Jedi with a good throwing arm...'

I try my very best not to eat the entire thing in one gulp like the pathetic starving man I feel like. I fail miserably, but judging by the slightly guilty look on her face that may not have been such a bad thing.

"Did you get anything to drink in there?"

"Does urine count?"

The disgusted look on her face is softened by pity and a hint of understanding. Much to my delight, she pulls out a small package of dehydrated nerf mush and a canteen of water. "Do me a favor, and don't give that back," she orders, tossing them both to me. "And don't eat it so quickly you puke."

"Wouldn't dream of it, hot stuff," I assure her, ripping open the package with my teeth.

She laughs bitterly "Right. And don't call me that again unless you have some sort of secret desire to be eviscerated."

I take a long gulp of water. "Well, what should I call you if I can't call you 'hot stuff'?"

"My name?"

"Your name isn't 'hot stuff'?" I ask, feigning shock. I know it isn't, in case you were wondering. She'd introduced herself as 'Eshe Jivala' of all names. I mean, really, why didn't she just say it was 'Jane Doe' and get it over with?

Then again, I'm calling myself 'Atton Rand' these days, so I guess I can't really talk.

"I believe I introduced myself back in the cell?"

"I'm afraid all I keep getting hung up on the sight of you in your underwear," I drawl, leering again.

She leers back at me, eyes raking my body over in a not entirely unpracticed manner. I blush, more embarrassed that I didn't see this coming than by the heat of her gaze; _that_ I could get used to. "You're dressed in skin-tight leather, and I've still managed to remember yours, Atton."

"See anything you like, Eshe?" I joke.

"See? Plenty. What I smell, on the other hand, makes you only slight less appealing than a particularly deformed Quarren."

"Ouch," I deadpan, placing a hand over my heart to indicate that I am mortally wounded by her barb. On the inside, though, I grin. She knows how to flirt, Nar Shadaa style. That isn't something Jedi normally do, although there was that pair...

Nope. Not thinking about that. Especially _that_ particular that. Seven. Six. Seventeen+3, stand at twenty...

"So, you're a Jedi, huh?" I drawl. "Must have been hard. No family, no husband..."

"Not nearly as hard as enduring your false sympathy while you're staring at my chest," she replies easily.

"Hey," I protest "I'm not try-"

Of course, the droid picks this moment to open the door off the administration level. A brief conversation ensues, assuring me that she is, in fact, completely insane, and brings to my attention that she may actually be a little bit more than your run of the mill Jedi insane.

Not like it matters, really, as long as she doesn't kick it before we get off this station. I mean, don't get me wrong, she's pretty and feisty and all, but it's not like someone with my history can afford to be hanging around Jedi for very long. I'll have to part ways with her as soon as possible.

* * *

It's about two hours later, after everything has gone to hell and my new favorite suicidal Jedi has decided to take a nice relaxing walk on the outside of an asteroid.

And gotten some plasma burns in the process, which she's treating with techniques that even I, with my very limited experience with such maters, could tell is inefficient to the extreme.

"You're a Jedi. Can't you just use the Force to-"

"Let's get some things straightened out right now, Atton. First of all, I am the galaxy's crappiest Jedi. I drink. I gamble. I have no respect for authority. On occasion, I've been known to dance on tables and chew spice, although I've sworn off that last one after I almost ended up in bed with a Gammorean."

"Ew…" I groan. "I didn't need to know that."

"Serves you right, piss drinker," she sniggers vindictively. "Secondly, I don't really do the whole Jedi-healer thing. Most of the time I'm too impatient and I just kind of fling healing energy at whoever needs it and hope no passersby have an unset broken bones on their person or anything. And lastly, until about four hours ago, I hadn't been able to feel the Force for over a decade."

"Not be able to feel the Force? Is that even possible?"

"Yes. Sometimes, Jedi who have done particularly terrible deeds have been stripped of their power by the Jedi Council. That's what happened to Ulic Qel-Droma, if you care to know."

Oh. No wonder she's so different from other Jedi, she's a _Sith_. Great, that's just what I need. "So what did you do?" I ask, feigning nonchalance.

"I… don't know," she says. "I was at Malachor- the Mass Shadow Generator went off, there was a lot of pain, I collapsed, and when I came to again, it was just… gone."

"I you have no idea what happened to it?" I question. She snorts.

"What part of 'I don't know' are you missing, Rand?" she asks. "I thought the Council might have some clue, but either they didn't know, or didn't want to tell me right before they tossed me out on my ass."

"Damned Jedi secrets," I say, before I remember that as a life-time smuggler, rather than one who's just been toting spice for the six years because it was easy and made ends meet, I really shouldn't know crap about Jedi, let alone their secrets.

"I hear you," she agrees vehemently, apparently not picking up on my momentary lapse. I breath a huge mental sigh of relief as she continues. "Especially when they leave me as one frustrated woman with a particularly annoying mosquito buzzing in my ear."

"You know, if you want me to keep this channel clear, all you have to do is say-"

"Shut up, Atton."

I sigh, but comply, and go back to the consuming business of worrying in the control deck until she comes back with the witch in tow.

* * *

"So what happened?' I ask as casually as I can. Eshe arches an eyebrow.

"To what?"

"Don't give me that," I chided. "There were plenty of times back on Peragus when a lightsaber would've come in handy. So- where's yours?"

"It was... taken from me. By the Council."

Inwardly, I cringe. I already knew she and the Jedi had a checkered history, but she must have done something really horrible for them to toss her out without even letting her keep her lightsaber. "Oh yeah? I thought Jedi were supposed to be married to their lightsaber. Guess I heard wrong. Were you a single hilt or one of the double-bladed users?"

"Double-bladed."

"Really? I hear the double-bladed variants are harder to master," Those Sith War Swords sure as hell were tricky. "But they can make the enemy go running for cover."

"Oh yeah," Eshe says fondly, smiling.

I frown. "It wouldn't have been red, would it?"

"I went through a few colors," she answers. "Green at first, the color of a Consular. Then after I was Knighted, and allowed to choose from the cooler colors, I switched over to viridian. During the Mandalorians Wars, there was a year or two when I went around with a red blade, but it didn't make my eyes pop like I was hoping it would, so I switched back to viridian shortly before the Battle of Malachor V. "

"So you were a Sith... but aren't anymore?" I ask.

"Nope. A rogue Jedi, maybe, but not a Sith. I left before I got the opportunity."

Whoa. Let's back up a minute, here. 'Before I got the opportunity'? That doesn't sound too auspicious to me. Actually, that sounds a bit like I'm now stuck with a wannabe Sith. Great, just great...

"Well, I still wish you had your lightsaber," I say aloud. "It must have been something to see."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she says flatly, and that's that.

* * *

We're arrested pretty much the moment we arrive on Citadel Station, of course. Blowing up a planet seems to attract that sort of attention from the local law enforcement.

Sort of like getting arrested seems to warrant getting stripped of all your armor and weapons before stepping into the force cages. Unfortunately for us, the TSF are a lot more thorough than Peragus Security. They take my jacket once they realize that it's been modified to deflect blaster bolts, and want Eshe to strip out of the uniform she picked up, much to my amusement and her disgust.

"What do you mean you don't have anything else to wear?' Lieutenant Yima asks, scandalized.

"I mean I woke up in a kolto tank with nothing on but my underwear on and between then and now this is the only thing I found to wear," she clarifies. "Believe me, if I had found anything- _anything_- else, I'd be wearing it now."

Yima bites her lip," You know, I have a change of clothes in my locker. They might be a little short on you-"

"I'll take them," she says.

'They' turn out to be kind of a mistake. I don't bother hiding my laughter when she comes in dolled up in something that looks like a hillbilly schoolgirl's uniform.

"Shut up, Atton," she snaps as she steps into the cage. I smirk.

"I hate you," she sighs, and then turns to Lt. Grenn. "Any way you could shut these things off long enough for me to give that idiot a smack on the head."

"No. But don't worry, it's only temporary," Grenn assures her, before stepping out of the room.

"Hey wait, I have some questions!" she yells after them. They ignore her completely; my smirk widens.

"Shut _up_, Atton." She repeats.

"I'm not saying anything," I protest.

"You were thinking it," she snaps.

I start. Crap, my pazaak game's still going, she can't possibly… "Stay out of my head!"

"Ohforcryinoutloud, I'm not in your head! It's an expression of speech!"

"Well sorry for taking that literally little Miss Mind Trick'."

"I can't even remember how to do a proper mind trick!" she yells back. Suddenly, the old woman coughs.

"Perhaps it would be best if we were to rest. Doubtless, it will take some time for the paperwork our arrival necessitates to be processed," Kreia advises. I start again. I'm pretty good at not being noticed, and as I a kid I used get pretty annoyed at all the time when someone I was standing right next to would wonder aloud 'Where's Jaq?', but the witch? Is in a league all her own. Not only did I manage to forget she was there, for a minute, I think I might have actually forgotten she ever _existed_. Creepy. I really need to get away from all these Jedi, although that's not really something I can do before I get off this station; they have the ship, after all.

Eshe nods, and sits down cross legged on the floor of her cell. I slouch forward and let myself zone out, planning how I'm going to get myself out of this mess before I get in too deep and end up having to change my identity again.

"Someone approaches," Keia says suddenly, and we all stand up just in time to see an assassin in a TSF uniform waltz into the control room.

I won't bore you with the details of his two-bit bounty hunter speech- I'm sure you know it went something along the lines of 'I am the best bounty hunter in these here parts, and now you will all bow before my greatness as I let all three of you out of your force cages!'

I also don't need to tell you that the guy severely overestimated his skills. Professionals don't monologue, at least until after their victory is assured.

TSF arrives just in time to watch Eshe snap the guy's neck. There's a rather tense moment in which we suddenly look like the bad guys, but, thankfully, that's cleared up before they can stuff us back into those damn cells.

* * *

The room Grenn stashed us in is acceptable; refresher, communicator (which has been ringing off the hook pretty much since we arrived, much to Eshe's disgust; she's actually dismantling it as I speak), nice view of the interior of Citadel Station, and enough beds for all. I try not to be too disappointed that I don't get to double up with Eshe, and console myself with the fact that it also means I won't be sharing one with Kreia. Or worse, watch Eshe and Kreia share a bed.

I _really_ need to get some. Fast. Pity we're stuck under house arrest, I know a couple of places on Citadel where a guy can meet a girl for a discreet rendevous. Or, at least, I used to. I've avoided this place like the Iridonian Plague for the past four years; maybe they cleaned those places out. I doubt it though; from what I've seen, security is even as overworked and understaffed as it always was.

I suppose Eshe might indulge me, now that I've had a shower, but then again, she's probably just as likely to disembowel me. They might not even be mutually exclusive concepts.

"Eyes up, Atton."

"Shouldn't that be 'shut up, Atton'?" I ask "Seeing as that seems to be your tag-line and all..."

"Not when you're ogling my ass," she replied. "Then it's 'keep your eyes up if you want to keep them in'. Savvy, Rand?"

I nod, leering cheerfully, and make a point to note that it's my surname when she thinks I'm being stupid, and my first when she's more amused by my behavior. And, in case you care, the witch is definitely a Jedi- no one else could be that cryptic or long-winded- but she doesn't like how reliant they are on the Force. I think she might be a decade or so too late with that little pearl of wisdom, personally; I wouldn't have been half as successful at killing them if they'd just learned to wear some goddamn _armor_.

"Yeah, yeah, I savvy. And ahoy to you too, hot stuff."

Eshe snorts, and places the panel back on the now defunct communicator. "Do you have a death wish I should know about? Or perhaps some sort of brain damage that affects your short-term memory?"

"Huh? I'm sorry- who are you again?"

"Shut up, Atton."

"Oh, so that _is _your tag-line."

"Shut. Up. Rand," she growls

"Alright, so we can't talk about your limited vocabulary. What about that porn you mentioned earlier?"

"TSF confiscated it; I doubt I'll get it back. Is sex all you think about?"

"Nope. I've spent equal amounts of time contemplating pazaak and booze." And trying to figure out how to get away from the pair of almost-Jedi I've picked up as traveling companions, but hey, who's keeping track?

Eshe snorts again. "Well, you're in luck; I hear there's a cantina here, and you owe me dinner."

"I owe you dinner?" I repeat incredulously.

"Yeah; that food on Peragus wasn't free you know."

I roll over on the bed to give her an incredulous look. "Didn't you steal that all from the medbay? Or, you know, the corpses?"

"And it was hard work too. I had to wrestle with that door for a good fifteen minutes; I deserve at least a cheap, greasy meal in a cantina for that," she protests.

"Yeah, I'll let you know when I have credits enough for that."

"You mean they don't just fall out of your ass?" she snarks.

"Nope. Those aren't credits, sweetheart."

"Force, no wonder that merchant looked so confused..."

_That_ summons up a mental image of a purple Twi'lek merchant cradling a handful of human waste, his lekku twitching in confusion as Eshe swishes out of the store with an overstuffed bag of vibroblades. I laugh.

"You're insane."

"Never claimed to be otherwise. Personally, I think anyone who is sane in this galaxy is stark raving mad."

"Probably. Those are the ones you have to watch out for," I reply sagely. The refresher door opens and Kreia shuffles into the room. I make a concerted effort to keep track of her position; after six times too many of her sneaking up and scaring a judicious amount of crap out of me, I deemed it worth the headache to keep my eye on her, play pazaak in my head, and do whatever else I have to do.

No more Jedi sneaking up on me. Never again.

* * *

I'm sure the details of our incarceration are plastered on the holonet, but I'll give you the abbreviated version anyway: blah, blah, blah, we figured out that you didn't make Peragus go kabloohey, blah, blah, blah, we want you to stay here until a mysterious Republic warship arives, blah, blah, blah, we need our ship back, blah, blah, blah, the ship's stolen, so sorry to _inconvenience_ you...

Frack the droids. Both that protocol one TSF has and that kriffing T3 unit. You know what? Frack all droids. Humanity got along just fine before they were invented, I'm sure we could do it again.

Although, to be fair, there is the small but intriguing chance that this isn't their fault, but rather some more of my _dear_ Eshe's karma come back to bite us in the butt.

"I can't bloody believe this!" she exclaims from the inside one of the TSF lockers. I'm pretty sure the one she's in isn't one of the ones holding our stuff- and _man_, do we have more than I thought we did- but her kleptomaniac tendencies work in my favor, so I'm not going to complain. "This is the third freg'd time someone has stolen my ship, and I'm getting _shabla_ tired of it!"

I make another mental note: she seems to speak Mando'a, or at least be able to curse in it. And she's owned more than one ship- a spacer. That really explains a lot.

"Three ships?" I ask.

"Three."

"And you managed to loose all of them?"

"Well, technically speaking I only actually lost the first one. I still say that Bith was a cheating thug. I actually just left the second one to my partner; I'd just found the Hawk drifting on the outskirts of space, and besides, hanging around an ex-lover while he's on his honeymoon got kind of awkward."

"No, really?" I drawl.

"You don't know the half of it. He was Mandalorian."

I very carefully do not jump, because if nothing else, I refuse to allow this woman to make me develop a nervous twitch. Okay, she definitely speaks Mando'a. And she is definitely insane. If I can find a way off this station without her and Kreia, I really should do so. Of course, that's a pretty big if... and what with all the Exchange on the station, it might be better for me to stick with the crazy Jedi ladies for a bit. It'll keep TSF off my back if nothing else.

"I find it interesting that you became so close to one who was once you enemy," Kreia remarks, picking up a vibroblade from the floor where Eshe was throwing all the stuff she found.

For once, I'm with the older schutta.

"You can't fight every Mandalorian you come across on the Outer Rim. Besides, Zuka and I were more there for mutual satisfaction than anything else. I think we might have actually hammered out the sex part while we were quibbling about how to split the work and the profits."

"Isn't that against the Jedi Code?" I ask, digging through the small pile of equipment at my feet for my jacket and blasters.

"Depends on who you ask. Probably though," she replies. "But seeing as they threw me out, I'm not too keen on following their rules. Especially when they always struck me as kind of stupid in the first place."

"A rule against having a 'partners with benefits' arrangement with a Mandalorian always struck you as kind of stupid?"

"Shut up, Atton. I was actually referring to the one that forbid 'carnal knowledge'."

As she speaks, she slams closed the door on the locker, and throws a vibrosword at me. I dodge out of the way.

"What the hell!" I yell. Funny, she doesn't look any different; wasn't going to darkside supposed to come with a warning, like veins and the like?

"You were supposed to catch it!" she replies, picking it up from the floor with the Force. It hovers next to me sinisterly. I eye it warily.

"Atton, if I wanted to kill, you'd be dead. Just pick up the goddamn vibrosword and follow me to Grenn's office. I have to go rant and that blaster of yours isn't very good for close combat." she orders, picking up what appears to be a green robe off the floor, and putting on the outer one.

"Expecting trouble?"

"Were you brain-dead these last few days? I'm surprised the Station hasn't gone under siege yet, the way our luck is going."

"'Our luck'?" I repeat incredulously, reluctantly grasping the vibrosword. "My luck was just fine until I met you!"

"Are you forgetting where you were when I found you?" she demands.

I wince. "No, but before that, everything was fine." A little lonely, a little boring, but fine.

"Really? What were you even doing before that?"

"The same thing you and Zuka were, probably," I grumble.

"All by yourself?"

"Yes."

She looks amused, and it takes me a minute to understand why. I've _really _got to stop thinking of her as a Jedi.

"Get your mind out of the gutter," I snap. "I meant_ smuggling_. You're the most perverted Jedi I've ever met."

This, in case you're wondering, includes that pair on Nar Shadaa I mentioned earlier. I'm still not thinking about that, by the way.

"And you're the most straight-laced scoundrel I've ever met."

"Me? Straight-laced? Listen, sweetheart, I could tell you stories that would make even you blush. I just don't want to kill the old witch back there," I argue, jerking my thumb over at Kreia as I do up the zipper on my jacket.

"By all means, do not feel the need to hold back on my account," Kreia says, on the opposite side of the room from where I thought she was. How the frack does she do that? Those Sith assassins on the_ Harbinger _weren't that sneaky. "I am far more likely to die from the delay your bickering is causing than from the content of your erotic tales."

Eshe acknowledges the point with an arched eyebrow, and stuffs the remaining gear into her pack.

"Well, we're off to see the Lieutenant. The_ wonderful_ Lieutenant Grenn," she mutters, walking out of the storage room. I follow, half-seriously weighing the pros and cons of asking TSF for asylum from my crazy traveling companions. On the one hand, it would involve answering a lot of questions I probably couldn't in my fake identity. Atton Rand, for example, still doesn't have a homeworld, although I suppose I could just keep Taris; with the entire planet kaput, my lack of documentation would be pretty easy to understand, although I'd have to come up with a very good excuse as to how I survived the bombardment. On the other hand, it would get me away from the two Jedi. Jedi or paperwork; what a choice. Rock, have you met my friend hard place?

And, of course, there is the unspoken matter of my promise to Dayan...

Suddenly, I feel an all too familiar prickle in the back of my mind, and automatically my thoughts shift to a triple X-rated fantasy involving Eshe and two extremely flexible Lehan Twi'leks. The other presence retreats hastily; it must have been the witch. Eshe'd probably be turned on.

The door to Grenn's office swishes open impressively, revealing a thoroughly haggard looking TSF officer. Immediately, Eshe's face morphs from one of righteous anger to one of profound disappointment.

"Gods dammit!" she hisses.

"I heard about your ship-" he begins, but Eshe cuts him off.

"And I heard about your personnel problem. Let's just chalk it up to that and move forward, shall we?" she mutters. Grenn sends her a pathetically grateful look; Kreia and I shoot her surprised ones.

"Yes, let's do that. Although without fuel from Peragus there won't be much forward to move to," he remarks, sounding frustrated.

"Still blaming me for that?" she asks.

Grenn mutters something unintelligible under his breath, probably in the affirmative, and then continues with. "It doesn't really matter whose fault it is. Peragus is gone, and without those fuel shipments we'll likely crash into the surface of Telos within the next three years."

"Well, if I see any fuel lying around anywhere, I'll let you know," she offers. Grenn snorts, and we leave the TSF station.

* * *

"So much for that rant," I drawl. Eshe sighs.

"You saw how he was. Ranting at Grenn then would've been like stabbing a decapitated corpse," she grumbles. "There wouldn't have been much of a point."

"There are some who would derive satisfaction from such an act," Kreia remarks.

"And don't I know it," she says emphatically. "I wouldn't want to end up like them."

"Wouldn't you?" she asks. Eshe doesn't answer, but instead walks into the cantina.

It's pretty much the same as it was four years ago; the live dancing Twi'leks are new, and the swoop track was rebuilt after that explosion, but the same pazaak players are hanging around, the same droid serving drinks, and the same setup. True to form, Eshe is accosted by some thug who, judging by his entourage, is in the employ of the local crime lord; probably in charge of the mercs. She tries to pick a fight with him, which, thankfully, he doesn't take her up on. Obviously, she's still a little angry over the _Ebon Hawk_.

Not that a blame her. If I ever get my hands on whoever stole that ship (thus prolonging my stay with the crazy near-Siths) I'll- well, let's just say that it'll shoot all chances of my redemption down the 'fresher, and good riddance to them.

Kinda. Sorta. Maybe.

"Okay," Eshe says, sitting down at a table, three shots of juma in one hand, a basket of cheesy huuba fries in the other. "First of all, we have slightly over one thousand five hundred credits. That's nowhere near enough money for one of us to book passage, even if we wanted to go somewhere like Nar Shadaa. We're going to need more."

"Well, there's some stuff we can do right here," I put in. "I can probably double that inside an hour playing pazaak, and from what I hear the swoop prizes are pretty generous."

"It may also be necessary to look to more active means of raising funds," Kreia adds. "Both the Ithorians and Czerka have offered you employment."

"I rather avoid such entanglements if I could," Eshe says. "Issues tend to develop whenever I end up in the employ of someone else."

No really? That's a surprise.

"Secondly, we need to find a ship, whether it's the Ebon Hawk, or some other vessel. I'd like to get off this piece of poo-doo sooner rather than later."

I snort. "Don't we all, sweetheart, don't we all."

"Anything constructive to say?"

"Finding a ship will be next to impossible, especially if you're gonna try to do this without working for either side," I expand. "The Republic will monitor everything, but Czerka and the Ithorians have the best chance of being able to get around that."

"What about chartering a vessel?" Kreia asks, munching on a fry thoughtfully. "The ship need not be ours to fly us away from this place."

"You'd run into the same problem; too much Republic monitoring. Especially with that bigwig ship coming in the dock."

"Which brings us to item number three; I don't want to be here when it docks. I don't care what the Republic wants from me, I'm not giving it, but I doubt my sentiments will matter much if they are desperate enough."

Thankfully, I'm not surprised by that statement. Eshe probably thinks of the Republic the same way I think of the Sith.

"'When you look at the abyss, the abyss looks back at you'," I quote. Eshe and Kreia stare at me quizzically. "Well, it's just that they've been fighting the Sith for so long, it's inevitable that at least some of their officers with start thinking like Sith."

Eshe nods glumly, but Kreia continues to stare at me. I shift uncomfortably.

"Well, let's get started on those credits," she says, chugging her remaining juma.

"You know, you forgot to mention dancing," I say as she stands up. "I'm sure the people hear wouldn't mind seeing a human face on stage."

"Shut up, Atton."

* * *

The day ends with as a success as far as gathering credits goes (we now have a total of five thousand three hundred, enough for passage to Nar Shadaa for the three of us, plus a few meals on the side) but is an abysmal failure as far as everything else went. Well, unless you count the message we got on our communicator (apparently repaired in our absence) informing us that the _Sojourn_ had been unavoidably delayed on Onderon because of some sort of diplomatic crises. Gotta love those diplomatic crises; they last several weeks and screw everyone up. It'll make it a lot easier to blow this place in a timely manner.

Eshe deposits her green outer robes on the floor almost the moment we entered our quarters. She'd been swoop racing for hours, trying to break every record know to the Telosian officials, much to their delight and my disgust. I grew up around the old-fashioned circuit in the Lower City, cheering on the Beks because my father backed the Vulkars; none of the liability forms she'd had to sign before they'd let her near the swoops, none of the fancy equipment or obstacles she'd had to jump. It made the sport at once more regulated and dangerous, two things which I hate with a very special passion.

She gathers up a towel and some soap from her bulging pack, and makes for the 'fresher.

"Hey, you ever find out what happened to that porn?" I call just before she closes the door.

"Nope. You can check for the holovid in my pack." she yells back. I glance back at the old witch; she's still meditating, eyes closed and, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world. Good. The best way to learn about a woman is to go through her bag, and it'd suck if I had been given a free pass to do so and Kreia stopped me.

At first, there's nothing unusual in her bag; credits, weapons, medkits, upgrades…

Then things start getting weird.

For one thing, there isn't just one holovid- there's about six dozen of them, and a beat-up portable player. Then there's the some crystal carvings of various species, a Wookie, a krinath, a nerf. Some jewelry, which was mostly stolen from Peragus, but I can tell some it is hers, from before: a ring inscribed the words 'emotion, yet peace', a pendant set with what looks like a fragment of a lightsaber crystal. There's also a braided lock of hair (a Padawan braid? I can't remember what size they were supposed to be) that looks like it's hers…

Funny really. I can tell most of this belongs to Jedi, an unconventional Jedi maybe, but a Jedi still. But she acts like she's left it all behind, and doesn't really talk about it. She gave me a sketch of the end of the Mandalorian Wars, and will talk a lot about her days afterwards, but except for that rather short conversation about her lightsaber, she's said nothing about being a Jedi. One could almost get the impression that she didn't really care about them.

And then I find this stuff. Like I said, the best way to learn about a woman is to go through her bag.

I look back at the piles of holovids, then, checking to make sure the witch is still deep in meditation, pick one at random and slide it into the portable player. Eshe's faces lights up the screen, and I can tell it's a really old one. She looks very, very, very young, but more than that; she looks more open. Happy. Less like an icicle and more like a slightly anorexic snowgirl.

I make sure the volume is on low, then hit play. Young Eshe's face split's into a wide grin:

"_Well, here I am, Jedi Knight Eshe Jivala, about to have my first legal visit to Zherron's Bar and Grill. It looks like Mal beat me here- damn his physical fitness! I suppose that means I lose our bet- am I, in fact, the last of our group to make it to Knight status. Great."_

The screen went blank for a moment, and then refocuses on what seemed to be Eshe fairly realistically dressed as a pink Twi'lek, lekku and all. If it weren't for the fact that I can see the eyebrows under her make-up, I would be completely fooled; she should have tried to make them look like tattoos, it wouldn't have been so obvious then.

"_I still say this would be a lot funnier if Mal had lost," she mutters softly, and swings the recorder over to a table at the far end of the restaurant. _

I hit the pause button. There are three people sitting at that table; one sandy-haired man in his late twenties and two teenagers. The man looks vaguely familiar in a way that probably means he's one of the Jedi I captured or killed during my Sith years, so I ignore him. The teenagers, however, are too familiar to overlook. The tall, pale male with tattoos on his head? Malak. And the short, dark female with aura of power?

Revan.

This must have been taken just about a year or so before the Wars started; she looks pretty much like I remember her on Taris, except maybe less worried. Same calculating green eyes, same casually dangerous posture, same friendly smile that made you want to pour out all your troubles and give her your soul. Not that she needed any of that, after what she did for my sister and all the other sentients in that slave market. Kind of ironic, considering what I ended up doing for her, what she ordered me to do... okay, bad memories there.

So Eshe knew the Sith Lords. And knew them well, if what I'm seeing is any indication.

I guess that explains why she doesn't want to talk about being a Jedi.

After a moment's deliberation, I hit play again.

_The camera follows Eshe over to the table, where she promptly sits down into the sandy-haired man's lap and gives him a big wet kiss on the cheek. _

"_Kavie!" she squeals, in a ridiculously high-pitched voice. 'Kavie' appears to be in shock, as does Revan, although she also looks a little angry. Malak bites his lip to keep from laughing._

"_I'm sorry," he says, trying to dislodge her unsuccessfully. "I think you have me confused with... anyone else."_

"_Oh, Kavie," she sighs, his voice still in alto. "I know you said not to bother you while you're in Jedi mode, but you're here, and I have a break, and these are you're friends right? They won't tell on us?"_

"_No, we won't," Revan promises quickly. "Why don't you introduce us to your friend, Kavar?" The shock has worn off by now, and she just looks angry._

I feel kind of sorry for the guy, not in the least because I now know why he looks familiar. About ten years after this was taken Revan will give me an assignment to capture him; he escaped from her, but I'm pretty sure Revan didn't make it easy on him... I don't want to think about that.

"_I would," Kavar says, still trying to pry her off his lap, and still failing. "If I had the slightest idea who she was."_

"_You're pulling a Bindo with someone whose name you don't know?" Revan comments, storm clouds gathering over her head. _

"_I'm not," Kavar protests sternly, squirming, although whether that was more from Eshe's death grip or Revan's glare I can't tell. "Pulling a Bindo!"_

_This is too much for Malak, apparently, because he makes a strange chocking noise like a strangled gizka. Revan looks at him, then over at Eshe, then back at Malak, then whips over to Eshe._

"_Eshe, you ignorant slut!" she squeals, whacking the said slut on the arm. Malak, who is apparently imitating animals today, and begins to make a sound like a ronto in heat._

I stare blankly at the screen for a long while, Malak still laughing insanely. They were all so _normal_; even Revan, who I expected to be intense and focused, like she was on Taris, or cold and deadly like she was as a Sith Lord, not relaxed and silly. Malak was different from what I had supposed as well- I mean, just listen to that laugh! When I knew him, he either had the evil, sadistic laugh he used when you were writhing around on the floor in pain, or, in his later years, mechanical. Not this... ronto impression; I never heard that during either of the Wars.

Not that I think about the Wars.

"_Eshe?" Kavar questions. _

"_Yes?"_

"_Get the hell off my lap."_

_She complies, giggling, and slides into the seat next to him. Malak is still laughing, Kavar is studying his robes with a disgusted look on his face, while Revan shakes her head, bemused._

"_Sheesh," Kavar groans. "You got pink body paint all over my robes."_

"_Well, it's a good thing you're going to become a Master soon then. New robes, less evidence of the illicit love affair the old man is still convinced we're having. And don't call me 'Sheesh'."_

"_Considering you were just calling him 'Kavie', I really don't think you can complain," Revan comments, looking at Malak, who is still laughing, concernedly. _

_Kavar splutters."Haven't you told Vrook that we're not-"_

"_Yeah, of course I have!" she cries indignantly, "But he's not buying it, because I keep having to leave out the bit where you're preoccupied staring into Rev's luminous green orbs or however we're describing her eyes today."_

Revan and Kavar. Huh. Funny, really; I'd always heard the couple was Revan and Malak. But then again, they certainly didn't act like a couple during their reign as Sith Lords. And wasn't there all sorts of hullabaloo about Malak being engaged to that General who lead the charge on Malachor V towards the end of the Mandalorian Wars? I was a bit busy trying to stay alive during that time to pay much attention to the press... not that I'm thinking about that.

_Malak's laughing increases in volume; Kavar sighs wearily._

"_Are you alright?" Revan asks Malak, who has turned the color of his tattoos. "It wasn't that funny."_

"_Don't start, Rev," Eshe cautions. "If Mal had lost our bet, you'd be laughing just as hard as he is now."_

_Revan thinks about that for a minute, then snickers. "Don't tell me he would have-"_

"_Of course. Do you think I'd agree to this if there wasn't a chance to watch Mal pretend to be an amorous female Twi'lek?"_

"_Yes?" Revan guesses. Eshe reaches over to smack her shoulder, snagging a fry from her plate on the way back._

"_Go suck a lightsaber," she grumbles good-naturedly._

"_No thanks. Wouldn't want to put you out of a job," Revan replies._

_Malak lets out a very high pitch whine, causing every patron in the restaurant to jump and stare at him. _

"_Okay, Rev has a point, Mal. You can breathe and everything right?"_

_Malak nods, waving them off._

"_How much have you had to drink?"Revan asks._

_Malak holds up two fingers._

"_Of what?" Kavar demands._

_Malak points to his empty glass. A passing waitress eyes Eshe cautiously before pouring him another. _

"_Don't drink that!" Revan orders, snatching it away and sniffing it delicately. "Oh, Malak, please tell me this isn't Tarisian Ale."_

_That_ explains a lot. I had my first hit of that stuff when I was thirteen; it nearly killed me. Then my nurse found me passed out on the floor clutching the bottle, and almost finished the job... okay, off-limits area there.

_Malak, of course, nods, laughing less than chuckling now that its apparent he's in trouble._

"_Malak, this is one of the most potent ales in the galaxy," Revan begins sternly. "The saying that it can get even a Jedi pissed isn't just bragging."_

"_Really?" Eshe says, perking up._

"_No!" Revan says sternly. "No, Sheesh, one drunk friend is all I have patience for dealing with today."_

_Eshe shots a questioning look at Kavar, who explains "The Senate just voted not to come the Cathari's aide. Again."_

"_They aren't even sending relief packages anymore!" Revan fumes. "It's like the Senate just collectively decided to put their hands over their ears and sing the __**Starship Venus**__! They won't even acknowledge it's a genocide, and now similar tactics are being employed against the Iridonians and-"_

"_And," Kavar says quickly, cutting off what probably would have been a pretty good rant. "You really don't want to try any of that ale, Sheesh. You won't even remember what you did, and you'll want to kill yourself in the morning."_

"_Speaking from experience?" Eshe quips. _

_Kavar nods, blushing. Eshe gapes, and then wheels on Revan._

"_Why the hell didn't you tell me he got drunk?" she demands._

"_I'm still under the impression I'm sworn to secrecy," Revan says, looking confused. Malak, who by this point had managed to get his chuckles under control, begins howling again._

"_Okay, Malak, you really need to calm down!" Revan soothes. He ignores her._

"_Shut up, Malak!" Eshe roars. He leans over backwards, falls off his chair, and laughs even louder. A worried murmur runs through the restaurant._

_As, one, the three Jedi stand up..._

... and Eshe flings herself out of the refresher, dressed in only a towel, and yanks the player out of my hands with the Force.

We stare at each other for a moment. Then, more calmly than I've ever heard her say anything, she asks "Weren't you supposed to be looking at porn?"

I don't really have an answer.

"Well," she sighs. "I suppose I kind of walked into this."

And with that, she turns around and walks stiffly back into the refresher, leaving me alone with a whole bunch of thoughts and memories I don't want to have.

Kreia, in case you're wondering, is nowhere to be seen.

* * *

This, in case you're wondering, is why I haven't posted my Exile stuff over on Kotor Fan Media; I'm not sure it fits the criteria of being teenaged friendly. So to that effect, I'm issuing an unofficial, probably illegal poll. Please respond in your reviews, which I expect to actually receive.

A) There's a picture of Revan and Carth reading Star Wars Universe Porn Magazines. Get over yourself and post.

B) It's too dirty for teenagers. Even if their's worse stuff there already, don't give in to the temptation.

C) I can't really tell- the typos are too distracting. I do, however know a beta, who you can contact at (insert email address here)

Thanks in advance!


	4. PostExile: Eshe and Zuka

I'm sure you're asking yourself "How the hell did Eshe, the Jedi Exile, end up in a sack with Zuka, the Mandalorian tech?". Well, here's the story.

It had started something like this:

He had been sitting at the bar of the cantina in the Deralian spaceport, debating whether to down the rest of the contents or simply wait until closing time to finish what he was spending his last few credits on. It's not like he had anywhere to go- the_ hut'uune _he had been shipping with, had left him on this rock nearly a week ago. They were probably under the impression that he had died from the beating they gave him; like most _di'kute_, they failed to take into account his regenerative implants and left him alive instead of properly finishing the job.

And they called themselves Mandalorian. Even a _ge'verd_ like himself, who prefered fixing and building things to fighting, and whose thoughts were more in Basic than Mando'a, was more a Mandalorian than those _aruetiise_.

Sadly, it seemed like the_ aruetiise _where in the majority these days; the _Mado'ad_ seemed to have disintegrated into nothingness, and all that was left were mercenaries so bored out of their skulls they'd do any job their bosses threw at them with enthusiasm, no matter how dishonorable, and the _Ba'buire_ who wallowed in the _Taungsarang_ and lusted for battles such as would never again be fought.

And him. Zuka, the clanless mechanic.

The bartender- a sentient whose ancestors had belonged to so many species it was difficult to tell what gender it was- slide a jug over to his seat. He shot her a questioning look.

"On the house," it said, pointing what he had assumed was a ponytail, but was, apparently, a hairy lekku over to a table in the corner; it was inhabited by a skinny human woman of about thirty. He shrugged, and picked up the drink, sniffing at it suspiciously. Much to his surprise, the nearly forgotten smell of _behot_-laced _tihaar_ wafted up from the drink.

"Thanks," he grunted, and leaving the money for the drink he'd brought, went to go sit down at the table were the woman was.

She barely looked up as he took the seat across from her, giving him a brief nod in greeting before turning back to her datapad. Zuka sat with her in silence for a while, savoring his ale and studying her. He doubted she was Mandalorian; no woman of any clan would be caught dead that underweight unless they died of starvation, but still...

"_Su'cuy_?" he tried.

"Don't sound so disappointed," she muttered in Basic without looking up. "I'm fairly difficult to kill."

Zuka thought that was unlikely, but then again, the double-bladed vibrosword strapped across her back might not be just for show. And there was something to be said for the way she held herself... it reminded him dimly of the something he'd spotted watching an enemy encampment during the wars.

"Thanks for the ale," he said, switching over to Basic.

She raised one emaciated arm and gave a dismissive wave. "Don't mention it. You looked like you needed a nice strong drink."

Zuka snorted. "I don't think I look bad enough to warrant however much this cost. How do they even have _tihaar_ here?"

She shrugged, and placed her datapad face down on the table. "It's Deralia; the Mandalorian sector is less than three light-years away, as the mynock flies. Besides, you wouldn't believe the_ osik _that comes from here."

Zuka stared at her for a moment. Her pronunciation of Mando'a was only slightly flatter than how the_ droten_ of Ordo would speak, and again, he was reminded of the Wars; many of the higher-ranking _jetiise_ officers spoke with much the same accent.

"_Duraani, burc'ya_?" she asked. And suddenly it clicked.

"_Jetii_!" he exclaimed, reverting back to Mando'a in his shock.

"_Dar'jetii_," she corrected. "In the literally translated sense rather than the more common one, thank you very much."

He glared at her. She raised an eyebrow. "Don't look at me like that- I did buy you a drink, you know."

Zuka looked at his now empty jug, then back at the Jedi. "Why?"

The woman snorted. "Why not? You look like you needed it, and I make it my business to help out my fellow vets whenever I have the means."

"We didn't fight on the same side," he pointed out.

The woman snorted. "I thought Mandalorians weren't supposed to hold grudges? The war's over, and if even half the rumors are true, then both our people were scattered by it. Why perpetuate the problem?"

Zuka smiled bitterly. That was one of the reasons why he liked fussing with his droids and power relays better than battle; when they died, no matter how original or unique they'd been, you could always find the right components to put a droid back together again. He supposed their respective cultures could be similarly reconstructed, but that would taken a long time- decades, a century even. He'd be long past his prime by then, way too old to enjoy even the turret, mine, and grenade construction he'd excelled at during the Wars.

"So... what have you been up to since the end of the War? Pulling arms off children and burning random hovels?" she asked.

"_Shh, beroyar_," he answered lightly, deciding to take her words as a joke rather than an insult. "Or at least, I was bounty hunting until my clan decided that they'd rather go after the high-paying joy-girl retrievals rather than any challenging work, and dumped me here. I suppose you've been rescuing stranded kittens and using the Force to cheat at pazaak?"

"No one with my skills needs to use the Force to cheat at pazaak," she boasted, "And I'm doing anything that takes me along the Outer Rim- or at least I was until my ship crashed Now I'm stuck here until I figure out how to fix my hyperdrive."

"Don't they have any mechanics on Deralia?" he asked, the beginnings of an idea forming in his mind.

"Yeah. But every since Czerka tried to come back, and there was the big huge space battle, all their military ships have gotten state-sanctioned priority. Earliest I can squeeze mine in is about three months from now," she informed him glumly. "I don't suppose you have any prowess with a hydrospanner?"

"As a matter of fact, hydrospanners are my weapon of choice," he proclaimed. "How much you offering for the job?"

"I can only afford about two hundred credits right now, but I'll throw in all the parts, tools, and meals you'll need," she offered.

Zuka frowned; that was just barely enough to make it worth his while.

"Of course, there could be more if you're willing to consider a more long-term partnership," she began hesitantly. "I tend to get into trouble like this more often than I care to admit to, and it'd be nice to have someone whose repair and computer skills were better than my own to help me get out of it."

Zuka mulled that over. It sounded good enough. "What sort of work would we be doing?"

"Spacing. Smuggling. Scouting. Maybe a little bit of bounty hunter work if I can find someone to pay who doesn't work for the Sith, the Republic, or the Exchange."

"What do you have against those?" Zuka asked, surprised. What with this New Sith War, the two most lucrative buyers would be the Republic and the Sith, and the Exchange never ran out of people to put on its shit list. Granted, those were mostly impoverished debtors and escaped joy-girls, but still...

"Too risky to work for either the Sith or the Republic. I guarantee you that someone would recognize me sooner or later, and then neither one of us would have a moment's peace. The Exchange, I avoid simply on principle; interplanetary slavery doesn't sit well with me. You game?"

She stuck out her hand. Zuka eyed it. "Not so fast,_ vod'ika_. Before I agree to anything, we need to get a few things straight."

"Such as?"

"Pay, for starters. How are we splitting it?"

"You get forty-five percent, I get fifty-five."

Zuka snorted. "Not a chance."

"Oh come on now, be reasonable, _vod_. I'm supplying the ship after all."

"Which won't fly unless I fix it."

"Which won't fly soon unless you fix it."

"Do you really want to wait three months?"

"Fair enough," she conceded. "Fifty-fifty."

"Works for me. So I fix the ship, you fly the ship... who's cooking and cleaning the ship?"

"I'll cook," she said quickly. "Can't keep things tidy to save my life."

Zuka nodded, secretly relieved. While all Mandalorians were supposed to be able to cook as well as they fought, that wasn't really the case, even with him. His food rivaled only Luteola Fett's in terms of number of warriors it felled with cramps and bowel sickness.

"And who decides what jobs we take?"

"We either agree, or we don't do it," she said promptly.

"No offense, but I doubt you and I will agree very often, _jetii_," he pointed out.

"Then you can take the jobs you want, and keep the profit, as long as they're small and I don't end up having to charge into some stronghold to rescue you."

Zuka shrugged. It sounded fair enough to him. "Don't expect me to rescue you either. I don't do hero work."

"I don't blame you. Being a hero's a big pain in the _shebs_," she said emphatically.

"What sort of ship are we flying in?"

"Standard small-time freighter; two mid-sized cargo holds in the aft, a smaller one in the mid, and three bunks off the cockpit. Refresher's a decent size though. Name's _Dauntless_."

"Any dividers between bunks?"

"Nope. Worried about your virtue?" she mocked.

"Worried about yours," he shot back.

"Don't bother; it's past retail value."

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't Jedi have a 'no sex' rule?"

"I'm exiled. And I don't care. Don't Mandalorians have a 'no sex outside of marriage' rule?"

"My clan threw me out. Can't say I care all that much either."

They regarded each other for a moment, and then, tilting her head to one side, she said "I guess that means we can not care together, then."

Zuka looked her over again. She still seemed too thin to his eyes, but he doubted she would break, and given the size of her frame she was generously proportioned in all the areas that mattered. "I'll need to know your name."

"Eshe Jivala," she stuck out her hand.

"Zuka..." he stopped. He could hardly say Zuka Mirdala anymore. Clan Mirdala, he feared, was dead forever. "Zuka Nu'alitt"

"Nice to meet you, Zuk'ika. Now, let's go tend to that ship of ours."

The two departed, leaving the cantina without a second thought.

**Mando'a Translations for Those of You Who Are Less Geeky Than I**

_hut'uune_ cowards

_di'kute_ dickwads

_ge'verd_ almost warrior

_aruetiise_ outsiders

_Mado'ad_ Mandalorian

_Ba'buire_ Grandfathers/Elders

_Taungsarang_ Ashes of the Taung

_behot_ a root with antiseptic and stimulate properties

_tihaar_ fruity alcoholic drink

_Su'cuy?_ friendly greeting (literally: so you're still alive?"

_droten_ people

_jetiise_ Republic

_osik_ shit

_Duraani, burc'ya?_ You looking at me funny, pal?

_Jetii_ Jedi

_Dar'jetii_ Dark, or fallen Jedi (literally: no longer a Jedi)

_Shh, beroyar_ Nah, bounty hunting

_vod'ika_ comrade (familiar form)

_vod_ comrade (formal form)

_shebs_ ass

_Mirdala_ Mando'a for clever; appropriated as a clan name here

_Nu'alitt_ no family/ no clan

On another note: Does anyone here know where I can find a good Star Wars beta? Thanks in advance.


	5. PreExile: Revenge of the Brith

Eshe opened her eyes and suppressed the urge to grin. Meditation was not normally a pleasant or productive activity, and no one knew it better than she did, but today was different. Today she felt like she had seen more, learned more, and, perhaps, actually gotten something accomplished.

Actually, that sort of thing was fairly common these days, what with the newest - and scariest- Padawan becoming her standing roommate when they were both on Dantooine. Which was a lot; both of their Masters were elderly and slightly (or, in the case of Master Kreia, very) antisocial, and so often stayed close to the Enclave, or, when the were given assignments, went to civilized, Core Worlds far away from anything more important or exciting than you run of the mill back-stabbing political intrigue. With great effort, Eshe suppressed a small twinge of jealousy. The boys didn't have this problem; Malak's master, Zez Kai-Ell, was a younger, more energetic Master, and often took his Padawan to the Outer Rim worlds, and Kavar was fully a Knight already, having adventures of his own, and, possibly, looking to take on a Padawan of his own. Rumor had it that Revan would have ended up as that student, had not Master Kreia shuffled out of whatever stack of holocrons she had barricaded herself in a decade ago and declared herself ready for another pupil; now he simply acted as he always did, instructing herself and Malak in fencing techniques whenever he was around. Between that and the Guardian stuff Revan was teaching her, Malak was going to be in for a big surprise when he finally returned from whatever reach of the galaxy he was wandering about now.

_Speaking of surprises_, Eshe thought, looking over the where her roommate was hunched over her datapad, _she's been at it for way too long now. She needs one._

And with that, she used the Force to call the datapad into her hand. Revan wheeled around, glaring blearily at the older girl.

"What the hell, Eshe?"

"_The Theory of Moral Relativity_?" Eshe asked incredulously. "Rev, are you trying to skip Knight as well as apprentice? Why the hell are you reading something like this?"

"I'm not reading it," Revan muttered, using her own powers to snatch the pad out of Eshe's hands. "I'm _writing_ it."

"Why the hell are you writing something like that then?"

"Because 'something like this' is all Master Kreia will talk to me about. I figure if I just show her what I already have figured out, and then we can skip all the long winded arguments we never get to finish anyway and get on with the more exciting stuff," the younger girl grumbled.

"So wait. This isn't even homework? You're doing this for fun? You're writing a 70,000 word essay, on moral relativity, for fun? Revan, what the hell?"

"Just because my idea of fun doesn't involve staring out into the night and moping around because Malak isn't here doesn't mean it still isn't fun," she snapped.

"Yeah. I can see you're just letting the good times roll," Eshe deadpanned. Revan didn't answer, but her scowl deepened.

"Look, Rev. You're thirteen. You've been a Jedi for about three months. You're probably going to beat me to Knight, at the rate you're going. Stop! Halt! Cease and desist! You're scaring the crap out of everyone! Take a night off and get some sleep, forcryinoutloud!"

The corners of Revan's mouth twitched. "I take you've been spending some time with Master Wenutu again?"

Eshe shrugged. "She and Master Nemo are old friends, we had lunch the other day."

There was a moment of silence before Eshe added "And don't think I didn't notice you changed the subject."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sheesh," she replied.

"Would you stop calling me- hey! You're trying it again!" Eshe snatched the datapad from Revan's hands again.

"Listen, Revan, when I say you're scaring the crap out people, I mean 'you're scaring the crap out of people'. You're at the top of your class-"

"So are you-"

"But I've been here practically since I was born!" The older girl jumped up and began to pace. "You've been here for all of three months and sometimes I think you know more about the Force than the Masters do. You certainly have more control over it!"

Revan blinked, looking startled. "I'm not-"

"Don't try denying it, Rev. You might be the only one who really knows what you're capable of."

"I don't."

Eshe stopped in her tracks and wheeled around. "What do you mean you don't?"

"I don't know what I'm capable of. I don't know how powerful I am. I don't know where my limits are- or if I even have them. I just don't know."

"Banthashit," Eshe challenged.

"It's not," Revan insisted. "You know what happens when I meditate? I go to a beach- I'm not sure why I beach, because I've only ever seen them in pictures, but it's a beach nonetheless. And there's an ocean. Sometime's it's calm, other time's it's stormy, and sometimes I can see different patches, currents... as you can probably guess, that's the Force. The problem is, I can't tell if it's the Force in general, or just the extent of my ability to command it. I just don't know."

"Oh," Eshe said after a long moment. "So that's why you scare the crap out of everyone. I just thought it was how you could just keep going with no sleep and no food for days on end. You're like the fracking Energizer Gizka, you know that?"

"That's it?" Revan asked. "I pour out my heart and soul to you and you make jokes comparing me to a power cell?"

"No, it's you tell me what has the Council all in a tizzy about you and then I make jokes comparing you the mascot of a brand of power cells," Eshe corrected.

"You know what you remind me of," Revan said. "Munti Krinath. Talking to you is like acting in a skit from Munti Krinath."

"Munti Krinath, eh? I've always been a big fan of his," Eshe mused, and began to hum 'Lovely Nerf' under her breath. Revan stared at her, incredulity growing with every passing second.

"Eshe..."

"Rev, I've known you long enough to know that while you certainly have your down sides, stupidity isn't one of them. I take it you've told at least one of the Masters about your meditation issue?"

"Of course. I'm not a fool," Revan replied. Eshe rolled her eyes to the ceiling. 'Fool' was one of Kreia's favorite words, and it seemed like she was passing on her vocabulary to her pupil.

"I never said you were," she huffed. "And..."

"Master Vrook thought I was suffering from hubris, and that I'd fall to the darkside," Revan clarified.

"Yes, well that sounds like the old man to me. As much as it pains me to admit it, he might be a bit biased here. How about your own Master?"

"I'm pretty sure I'd get the same response," Revan answered.

"Well, try. And if that falls you can always borrow my Master. He's pretty good at being understanding and flexible. And if that fails, go to Master Wenutu. Or Master Kae. She has a soft spot for you a mile wide, you know. I think if Master Kriea hadn't snatched you up, she would have taken you on as her Padawan."

A dark shadow passed across Revan's face.

"Oh dear. There's that look again," Eshe intoned.

"What?"

"They look that comes whenever something from you're mysterious past comes up. You know, the one you refuse to talk about?"

"I don't refuse to talk about it!"

"Okay then, how'd you spend your thirteenth birthday?"

Dead silence.

"See? Mysterious past. Which you're way too young to have, by the way," Eshe concluded.

"And you're never going to find out about," Revan muttered.

"A-ha! A challenge! Now you have no chance of hiding your childhood secrets from me!" the Consular declared.

Revan rolled her eyes and grumbled something unintelligible.

"Okay that was Mando'a. I should probably know what you said, but have no idea,"

"I said 'You would have made a good Mandalorian'. And for someone who is, in fact, a Jedi, your language skills suck, you know?"

"We can't all be hyperpolyglots like you,"

"I'm not asking you to learn ten languages, just one."

"I already know one- Basic. Half the galaxy speaks it."

"And half the galaxy doesn't."

"Which is why you're teaching me Mando'a, among other things. By the way, thanks for those Force Jump lessons; I really surprised Niteroi in the dueling circle today. And you wouldn't believe how long I can stay in the air now."

"Oh, I have some idea," Revan answered, turning back to her datapad. Eshe snatched it out of her hand again.

"You know what you're problem is? You're not a kid. I'm not entirely sure you were a kid- you probably popped out of your Mom complete with lightsabers and sent the midwife spiraling away with a Force-push. So you know what? You're going to bed right this instant, so that you can wake up at the crack of dawn with me and hijack a brith."

"A... brith?"

"A brith."

"You want me to hijack a brith. And then do what exactly?"

"Fly it, of course."

"You can do that?"

"Sure; it's been a tradition among Padawans since right before the Exar Kun wars, when the first beast-rider Jedi was accepted into the Order. The legend goes he wooed his girlfriend by coaxing the entire brith flock to flying in formation, spelling out his lover's name,"

"Really?" Revan asked perking up.

"Yeah!" Eshe enthused, happy that something had finally caught Revan's interested that wasn't centered around the archives.

"You know, that sounds an awful lot like the Beast Control power Master Kreia was telling me about..." she continued, and Eshe rolled her eyes.

"Lighten up, Rev. Be a kid. Just for a minute, okay?"

Revan huffed, but after a minute, tentatively asked. "What does it feel like?"

Eshe smiled and began "Well, to begin with, you can hold on to anything- you have to sit cross-legged on it's back, and there no place to put you're hands. The wings move back and forth, and it feels a bit like being on a boat at first- the same forwards, up-and-down motion..."

* * *

"Jump up on the-"

"No! Dammit I'm sliding off again!"

"You're a Guardian, Rev, shouldn't that help you with techy little things like balance?"

"How the hell did you say this works again?"

"Damned if I know."

"But you just gave that whole detailed description"

"Which proved what? That I'd heard the story and am good at banthashitting?"

"Sheesh!"

"Don't view it as me lying to you; view it as a skill we have in common. And don't call me 'Sheesh'."

"Shut up! You're not helping!"

"Neither are you!"

"No, seriously, shut up. I have an idea..."

* * *

For years, Master Faida Wenutu had been in the habit of waking before the sun. There was something profoundly peaceful about the twilight hour before dawn, something about the pastels of the sunrise and the song of the birds that made her feel the currents of the Force more clearly than she, with her mediocre connection, could feel at any other time.

However, her Padawan, Srini Vos, had just entered the latter stages of puberty, and was physically incapable of appreciating the serenity the early hour could afford them. Normally, this wouldn't deter Faida from dragging her along in the least, but the girl was having an especially bad menstrual cycle this morning, so the older Kiffar had taken pity on her and let her sleep in.

"Master Wenutu!" came a voice from behind her on the path. Faida turned around; Nemo, jogged up behind her, puffing slightly at the exertion.

"Slow down, woman! I'm not young enough to keep up with your freakish endurance anymore!" he called. Faida slowed to crawl, and he caught up to her, wheezing.

"You're forty years old, Faida. Stop pretending otherwise," he admonished.

"Just because some of us are nearing their sixtieth doesn't mean the rest of us need to slow down, Master Nemo."

"Drop the 'Master', Faida, and tell me what you've done with my Padawan," he ordered.

"Me? With your Padawan? Nothing at all,"

"Oh? And what was it you were telling her yesterday that had her all caught up in giggles?"

"About the dashing beast-rider Jedi who used his talent with animals to spell out his lady love's name in the sky," Faida responded.

Nemo's eyes widened. "Faida, you didn't-"

"Relax; she has no idea I was actually talking about us. I didn't mention any names, and I made you a few decades younger, just in case," she assured him.

Nemo rolled his eyes. "I thought you liked older men?"

Faida laughed. "I thought you couldn't keep up with my freakish endurance anymore?"

"My lady, you wound me gravely," he joked.

"You're a healer; I'm sure you'll survive," she dismissed. They walked in companionable silence for a while, before Faida continued with "Srini's seventeenth birthday is next week."

"Eshe turned fifteen last month."

"The kids are all grown up," Faida commented. "Soon they'll face their trials, become knights, begin questioning things... and not have anyone to guide them to the right answers."

Nemo sighed. "You're talking about Eshe's bond with Malak. You're afraid they might pull a Bindo."

"Nemo! When did you start using that turn of phrase?" Faida laughed, and then, sobering. "I'm afraid they might already be planning it- or have done it already."

"'It'?" Nemo asked slyly.

"Yes, 'it'. That which we decided not to do, so that we could remain Jedi after the Exar Kun Wars," Faida clarified.

"I still can't agree with that point," Nemo scowled.

"And yet, here we are. Still Jedi- and still celibate," Faida pointed out.

"You're the one who insisted that whatever we chose, we chose it openly," Nemo reminded her gently.

"And there never really was a choice after that, was there?" Faida responded, looking up at the sky.

"No, I don't suppose there was," Nemo confirmed. He walked a few paces, before he realized that his companion had stopped.

"Faida?" he asked

"I think we're needed back at the Enclave," she said in strained voice.

Nemo frowned. "I'm not sensing anything amiss."

"Look up, genius."

Nemo did; a flock of brith passed lazily overhead, flying in formation so that, from below, they looked to be spelling out the words VROOK AND KREIA, encircled by a large heart. His Padawan's work, obviously.

"Holy Force," he breathed. "He'll murder her! He'll murder them!" he corrected himself, as the flock grew nearer and he could see not one, but two distinct figured riding on the lead brith.

"Forget Vrook; Kriea will make them wish he'd caught them first," Faida amended, "Vrook at least went through his rebellious stage with Jolee, he'll understand a little bit. And it's hard to take him very seriously when his face turns that shade of purple."

"Let's go," Nemo said, taking off.

He was, Faida noted with some small degree of amusement before she followed suit, running faster than he had in years.

Amazing thing, puberty. All those hormones really addled the brain. She was almost happy that she had menopause to look forward to.

* * *

Brith, in case you're wondering, are the flying manta ray things on Datooine. 


	6. KOTOR2: In Which Eshe Really Screws Up

It's much, much later that night, after the witch has returned and everyone has turned in for the night, than I hear the door to our room slide open and someone leave. It's Eshe.

After a moment's deliberation, I decide to follow her. To demand some answers to the questions the holovid inspired- not because I'm worried about her welfare or anything. Because I'm Atton Rand, and I just don't give a crap about anyone but myself.

Or, at least, I think so, anyway. I'm not really sure who Atton is; unlike every other identity I've ever assumed, he was thrown together in a rush rather than painstakingly detailed and forged into the computer records. To completely honest, he has a name, a profession, a drawl, and a jacket, and not much else to define him. There was a purpose to that; his past never came back to haunt him, he didn't have any attachments, and he never, ever has nightmares involving obscene, impossible amounts of blood that stain his hands red no matter how hard he tries to get rid of it and-

I normally don't think about stuff like this, because it always makes me feel frustrated and kind of ashamed of myself for the pathetic little life I eke out. But I've talked about that enough; I'm here to find out how screwed up Eshe is, not talk about how screwed up I am.

She's in the cantina, of course, downing juma after juma like it's water. I sit down next to her, pushing the bottle on the table out of the way so I can see her face. She grunts, but doesn't say anything; for a long moment, neither do I.

"We need to talk," I say finally.

"Oh?"

"Yes," I confirm. "I have some questions that-"

"Stuff it," she grunts. "I don't feel like answering them."

I raise an eyebrow. "Too bad. We're stuck in this together and I want those answers."

"You're free to leave any time, Rand."

"Yeah, you mean without a ship or credits? Thanks, but I'd much rather pester you and risk evisceration."

She snorts. "Oh, we're past evisceration, Rand, and well on our way to full disembowelment."

She pours some more juma from the bottle into her tumbler and takes a long swig. "This is entirely your fault," she says, matter-of-factly.

I raise an eyebrow. "From what I hear, you've been hitting the juma for a lot longer than I've been around."

"Would you forget the alcohol for a minute? I'm talk about-" she makes an all-encompassing, helpless gesture that ends in a shrug and eye-roll. "I'd just managed to bury it," she says. "I had it all compartmentalized and locked away and then you had to go drag it out again."

That hits a little too close to home for me, so I scowl. "Yeah- I can see why you'd want to forget being a spoiled kid on the top of your game."

She scowls back. "Oh, I'd _love_ to remember those days. We were the best and the brightest, and future seemed so much the same... you know what we called ourselves back then? The Prodigal Knights; and this was before any of us were knighted, before Revan, even. We were always getting into trouble, and then somehow muddling through it without anything too serious happening. Nothing we couldn't handle, nothing we couldn't laugh about later."

"You aren't laughing now," I observe.

She snorts, and pours herself another drink. "I can't anymore. I can't think about any of them- any of it, any of being a Jedi- without remembering what came after. And that totally kills any hilarity, so I just don't remember."

"Why do you keep the vids, then?" I ask, curious. Unless you count the jacket, which I sorta stole, I don't have anything from Jaq's days.

"I said I don't want to remember; I didn't say I wanted to forget. I can't keep them because of the bad times, but I can't let them go because of the good," she clarifies. "Hence the using of words such as 'locked away'. Still there, but not really in use, you know?"

Yeah, I know, sweetheart. The overwhelming majority of Jaq's memories fall into that same category.

Instead, I gesture to her now half-empty bottle. "You have enough of that to 'not remember'? Because it's oh-dark-thirty in the morning and we should probably do something tomorrow."

"I repeat: you're free to leave, Rand. And by that, I mean go back to the room."

"I'm staying right here. Can't have you drinking yourself into a stupor, can I?"

"It's almost patently impossible for a Jedi to get drunk on juma. Especially when she has my alcohol tolerance," she informs me, and, ignoring the half-full glass in front of her entirely, chugs the rest of the bottle in one go.

"I thought you weren't a Jedi?" I ask innocently.

"I'm not. And I'm not a Sith either, before you ask."

"What does that make you, then? A rancor?" I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

She laughs ruefully. "I'm just another fracked up vet, Rand. Galaxy's full of us. Hell, just throw the refugees in and we are the galaxy, these days." She tosses back the last of the juma before signaling for another bottle. "No wonder everything's gone shitty; everyone's too busy trying to forget all the horrible things they saw and did to deal with all the less personal side-effects."

I don't comment. She could, I suppose, be doing more, but I can't really be throwing stones now, can I?

"I know what you're thinking," she sing-songs smugly. "You're thinking that I'm a dirty hypocrite."

"Seriously, stay out of my head," I respond. "You won't find anything you'll like in there."

She smirks. "I'm not in your head. You just have a certain look when you want to comment, but then decide it isn't worth the risk of grievous bodily harm. And I highly doubt your head is more fracked up than mine."

Sadly, that may be the case. At least she has the comfort of being the good guy.

I probably shouldn't, but I say about as much. I'm curious, though; why is she beating herself over something which actually helped people?

Her answer? "There are no good guys in war. I mean, do you really think what happened on Malachor was pure-hearted and merciful? It wasn't. It may have been the lesser of two evils, but that doesn't mean it wasn't still evil. It- the war- was all one big grey area, and the longer I was in it the darker it seemed to get."

The waiter, looking worried beyond measure, scurries over to our table and deposits a bottle. Eshe grabs it by the neck and hauls herself into the standing position. "To gray areas," she toasts bitterly. "Long may they excuse my existence"

And with that she saunters out of the cantina, leaving me with the bill.

~*~

It's the next morning and Eshe strides into the bedroom/dinning room/ foyer/living room and announces her intentions to go shopping for a change of clothes and then ask Lt. Grenn for some work.

"I thought you didn't like being employed," I remark, surprised.

"I don't," she replies shortly. "Actually, I hate it. But seeing as there's nothing better to do..."

Kreia looks terribly disappointed for a moment, before Eshe adds, "Besides, it's likely to be piece-meal merc work; no long term contracts, no long-term alliances. We get paid by the job, and we might find something out about our mystery warship in the process."

I take note as Kreia's face slides back in neutral; the witch wants something from Eshe, it seems, but Eshe isn't what she expected, and now she's not sure how to get it.

I have a bad feeling about her. Well, actually, I have a bad feeling about both of them, but at least Eshe has the perk of also being hot. Kreia on the other hand, just creeps me out- gives me a really bad feeling. Which, I suppose, can be counted as the trillionth reason for me to get away from these people when I finally get the chance.

Problem is? No chance is coming. And they aren't inclined to put their insanity on hold until one comes along.

The trip to Lt. Grenn's office takes longer than I would have liked because we ran into a bunch of thugs beating up an unarmed Sullustan, outside of the shop, and Eshe, either because she has a soft spot for Sullustans as well as Mandalorians or just wants some action, is unable to just leave them to it. The little guys pays as for our trouble, though, so I guess I can't really complain. Neither can I complain about the work Grenn, reluctantly, gives us. Like Eshe predicted, it's mostly merc work, and it gives us a good reason to go snooping around areas we might otherwise be considered suspicious in, such as the docks. Unfortunately, it soon becomes clear that it's going to be impossible to do much of anything for the Republic without getting ourselves at least partially entangled in the Ithorian/Czerka conflict.

"I hate it when the universe conspires against me," Eshe grumbles, shoving lunch - cheese fries at the cantina again- down her throat.

"I believe it is the Force that is conspiring against you," Kreia corrects her.

"Yeah. Bit difficult to have one without the other though, isn't it?" Eshe replies, sighing. "Maybe there's a way to work this to our advantage. Like you said Atton, Czerka and the Ithorians are the ones most likely to have resources we need to get off this station. At the very least, we should pretend to be interested in whatever job they have for us and see what we can dig up in the process."

We decide to go to the Czerka offices first, since they're closer. I don't particularly like Czerka, as they're one of the few corporations who still deal in slave labor; most everyone else had wised up to the way the wind was plowing and began liquidating their slaving operations years ago, but as long as there was a chance that there is profit to be made, Czerka is going to milk it for all it's worth.

This same philosophy, apparently, applies to escaped convicts who are actually mercs they'd hired to take care of some dissenters. They're also two of the guys we're looking for. I'm kind of happy Eshe was facing away from Lorso when the pair of them left the room; the look on her face probably would have melted the director into a puddle of goo, and that might be a little difficult to explain to Grenn.

It quickly becomes obvious that we're not going to get much help from Lorso with the other two jobs either. She doesn't know anything about Batu Rem, or so she claims, and is reluctant to give us any information about anything unless we agree to do a job for her. On Batano she's slightly more forthcoming; she tells us that she's heard he's hiding somewhere near the Ithorian Compound. She also offers us two hundred credits for his 'safe return'. Showing heretofore unknown amounts of self-restraint, Eshe refrains from cursing her out until we're out of earshot.

"That fracking _di'kut_!" she swears as the door closes behind us. Several passers by jump, then, noticing the direction we're coming from, go back to their business with slightly nervous, but sympathetic, smiles. "What the krif does she take us for? Complete and utter morons? _Mir'osike_? A three-year-old Gammorean with brain damage could see through her! Why did that _chakaar_ even bother trying to convince us she was a good guy? She couldn't pull off 'good' if she was given a beggar, some credits, and a full-color diagram!"

"And you can, I suppose?" Kreia asks pointedly.

"Of course. I do have two decades worth of Jedi experience to fall back upon. Granted, I was probably the least compassionate Jedi in the Order, but at least I knew what to do when a guy dressed in rags came up to me and asked for money!" she hisses back. "Come on, hopefully the Ithorians will be less taxing and unreasonable."

I'm not entirely sure why, but I get the impression that the Ithorians annoy her only slightly less than Czerka- in my book, a herd of Ithorians, even Jedi Ithorians, win out over corporate core-rats any day. The compound has a very ambient atmosphere, and the herd is a pretty peaceful bunch. Ithorian speech has always sounded more like music to me than anything else, although I can understand it well enough, and what Habat has to say, about their problems and our jobs in general doesn't sound to bad to me. Of course, this is all overshadowed by the fact that I spend the entire time we're with him trying not to hyperventilate; Habat was part of a group of Ithorian Force- Adepts Revan brought in after we regained Eres III, and it became obvious that the Mandalorians were taking their 'scorched earth' policy a bit too literally, that the Xoxin plains wouldn't burn themselves out anytime soon. I was the lucky bastard she chose to escort him around the base. He doesn't seem to recognize me, however, and Eshe, with all her normal tact and social grace, keeps our visit to the herd short and to the point.

"He knows something. He's being polite about it, and he doesn't want to admit it, but he knows something," Eshe declares the moment we're safely outside the compound. "Not about the criminals (I doubt we'll see anything more of those two), and not about Batu, but Batano... he definitely knows something about our missing informant."

"It would probably be in their best interest to keep him away from Czerka's eyes until they could be sure that he would be able to testify," I muse, as we walk back to our apartment. The night cycle for Citadel is just beginning, and the residential modules are t half-light. Eshe's frustrated, and it's catching, and none of the three of us are in a very good mood.

"So you think they're holding him hostage somewhere?" Eshe asks with a snort. "Ithorians don't really seem the type. But than again, the entire fracking galaxy seems to have gone off the deep end after I left, so who the hell knows?"

"I don't think it's holding him hostage so much as keeping him in protective custody. Czerka can be a pretty nasty bunch of cutthroats when they want to be. Which is pretty much always."

"He'd have to be close. Probably not in the compound- I wouldn't put it past Czerka to have the entire place bugged," Eshe added.

"But still, it's probably in this residential module-" I stop short.

"What?" Eshe asks.

"I have an idea. Come on, I need to use to get to a terminal," I say, and take off for our rooms.

~*~

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm no expert slicer. My feelings towards computers are only slightly less technocidal than my feelings towards droids- and I sometimes get the impression that the feeling's mutual. Their only saving grace was the fact they are designed to be controlled almost entirely by people. This allows people like me to take advantage of sentient error.

Take the passwords for the TSF files on Citadel Station. Since they are a security force with a fairly good reason to be paranoid, the passwords are supposed to change daily. And since people choose those passwords themselves, they normally are related to something that weighs heavily on their mind.

Grenn's password, for example, is 'Jedi' today.

"I would have guessed it was Peragus," Eshe comments.

"That was going to be my first guess," I admit, "But seeing as it's been a few days since that place blew up, I figured he used that one already."

"Smart," Eshe compliments. I can see the witch's reflection scowling in the computer screen, and I snort inwardly. What does that woman have against people anyway?

Using Grenn's access codes, I'm able to pull up the tax information of the Ithorian's residential module. Sure enough, the herd is paying for not only their compound, but one of the apartments down the hall.

"We have him now," Eshe murmurs. "How are your lock-picking skills, Atton?"

"I haven't even bothered to learn the key code for our apartment," I brag. "It's quicker just to slice."

"Good. Let's see what Batano has to say for himself..."

~*~

I'm ridiculously grateful for the half-light at night idea. If ever meet the civil engineer who came up with that concept, I'll have to kiss her. Or hug him. Sure, it's kind of creepy, in a way that reminds me of some of the worse sectors of Nar Shadaa, and if I lived here it'd probably annoy the hell out of me, but it makes it harder for the lone TSF officer on duty in that module to see what we're doing- which is breaking into an apartment with the best security system I've ever seen on a civilian door. The Headmaster's door on Korriban had a setup like this; thankfully, I was there when that was put in place, so I know how to get around it without too much difficulty.

At first glance, it looks uninhabited. But I've played this game enough times before to be able to tell the difference between a genuinely abandoned place, and one that just looks like it. There's no dust on anything, the bed is made, but only the top cover is smooth, and the temperature is slightly warmer than it was out in the halls, which means someone's been playing with the climate control.

"He's here," I say.

"I know," Eshe whispers, keying the door closed behind us. I nod in approval; that'll cut off is escape route, and force him to make some noise, if only on his way out into the hallways. "Kreia, can you sense him?"

"Can you?"

"No, but I've never really been good at that sort of thing," Eshe replies.

"Then let us rely on our other senses to discern this Batano's whereabouts," Kreia answers, moving over the refresher. Behind her back, Eshe mimes shooting herself with a blaster before going to check out the closet.

We quickly rule out all the obvious places, and begin looking in the less conspicuous ones. I'm on my hands and knees checking out the underside of the bed when a hear a set of footsteps that doesn't match up with either Eshe's (short and loud, almost like a tap) or Kreia's (she shuffles, unless she's fighting, and then I'm not entirely sure her feet touch the ground). Acting on instinct, I lunge at them.

It's been a while since I've used any Echani fighting techniques, and I miss the guy's throat by a few millimeters. It's close enough to disrupt the stealth field generator, though, and now that I can actually see him I manage to grab him by the shoulder. He's panicked though, and adrenaline gives him the strength to make a lucky shot- with a vibrodagger he had stashed up his sleeve. He slices at my arm, and I scream and let go instinctively to grab at it. He bolts for the door, but falls backwards, flat on his back a few feet away from it; Eshe had extended her quarterstaff perpendicular to his path, and he had barreled straight into it. She stands over him, pointing the end of her staff down by his throat.

"Don't move," she orders, and then looks over at me. "You okay, Atton?"

I check; the bleeding's not fast enough to be coming from an artery, and, after flexing my hand a few times, I'm confident that there's no nerve damage either. Some lucky shot. "I'm fine; there's just a whole bunch of blood squirting out."

"Just come over here you idiot, and let me look at that," she huffs. I obey, offering her my arm when I get within reach.

"See, just a scratch. Don't go wasting your limited amount of tender concern on me," I assure her.

"Oh, give me that," she says, roughly grabbing my arm and pressing her hand over the wound.

"Hey!" I yelp, before a tiny shock of light escapes from her hand, and the pain in my arm turns into a dull ache, more like a stiff muscle than a shallow stab wound.

She lets me go, and I step back, checking on the ripped area of my jacket. Underneath the blood, I can tell, the wound has closed completely. "I thought you said you were crap at healing?" I ask, confused.

"I am," she replies. "You're going to have a scar."

"You're a Jedi?" Batano squeaked from his position on the floor. Eshe moved a little farther away from him, not so far the she still could slice his throat open if she wanted to, but enough so that she was no longer looming over him. "Supposedly, I'm the last. You can get up now, just do it slowly and don't try to run again."

He does so, eyes darting warily from Eshe to me, but, I notice, sliding over Kreia as though she doesn't exit.

"I hear you're the last of a dying breed yourself," Eshe says finally. "The corporate conscious."

"Yeah, that's me. I take it you're the thugs Czerka hired to bring me in," he answers, trying very hard not to look afraid. "My how the mighty have fallen,"

Ouch. Poor word choice there Batano- don't ever, ever, ever call a Jedi 'fallen'. To those who have, it means nothing, but to those who haven't...

Eshe's face blanks out, and she says, in the same calm voice she used when she found me looking at her holovid "You presume much."

Batano cowers.

"In case you care, we're actually here on TSF's behalf. When Grenn found out his Czerka informant had gone missing he got worried, for some strange reason. Apparently he somehow got the impression that you'd stick around when you said you'd testify for him. Guess he thought you were made of sterner stuff."

"I-but- do you have any idea what they threatened to do to me!" Batano splutters.

"Yeah, actually. Death. Dismemberment. Enslavement. It's all pretty standard intimidation tactics," Eshe informs him.

"My wife," Batano states flatly. "If I testify, they promised- not threatened, promised- to kidnap her, lobotomize her, and stick her in a pleasure house on the edge of the Mandalorian Sector."

"Does she know about your agreement with Grenn?" Eshe asks, lowering her weapon a fraction.

"Yeah, of course. Actually, it was her idea in the first place," he answers.

"And I'm guessing she knew the risks as well," Eshe states, less of a question and more of an assertion.

"Yeah, but… That doesn't change the fact that they'll-"

"She can be protected. The two of you can hide after the hearing; actually, Grenn probably has her hidden away somewhere already. The Whistler-Blowers Protection Act is still up and running, right?"

"Well, yeah, but you don't know how much power Czerka has! They're the most profitable company in the Republic- with that kind of money, they can buy anything, even classified information!"

"Are you really that big a pain in the ass?" Eshe asks.

"Huh?"

"Look at it this way. From what I understand the overwhelming majority, if not the entirety, of your testimony is based on Czerka's shady dealings on Telos right?"

Batano nods.

"So, that means you're really only a pain in the ass for the branch of Czerka on Telos. While it's true they probably won't just leave you alone after you leave the system, they aren't going to go through the trouble of chasing you to the ends of the galaxy, especially if your testimony puts their position in jeopardy here. They'll be too busy _covering_ their own asses to worry about whether they're in pain or not."

Batano's shoulders sagged for a moment. "I-I don't know. I probably should, but..."

"But..."

"Where would I stay if I were to do this. I can't go out on my own; Czerka has employees all over the Station, and one of them is bound to recognize me. And some of those mercs...well, a few of them are vets of the Jedi Civil War, and I get the impression they weren't really working for the Republic."

"Yay, more Sith," Eshe deadpans. "You wouldn't believe how many of them I killed last week. Two or three more as I walk you over Grenn won't make all that big a difference in the grand scheme of things. Once we get you to the TSF Station, he can find you another safe house until the hearing, and then give you to the Republic."

"Hey!" I protest. "Since when are we on babysitting duty?"

"Since now," Eshe answers. "That is, assuming you're going to actually come with us."

"I-" Batano begins.

"I swear, if you start stuttering and being indecisive again, I'm just going to knock you out and drag you down to the station caveman style," Eshe threatens.

"Well, when faced with an offer like that how can I say no?"

I look at my chrono; it's 0350, which means I've run around this station at this unholy hour twice in two days for this woman. "I really need to go get some sleep. Can't we do this tomorrow?"

"No," Eshe says.

"You sure?"

"Shut up Atton."

~*~

Personally, I'm of the opinion that an escort really isn't necessary. Not only are we pretty much the only ones alive in this hour, but the TSF is actually making their presence known with guards in every module at regular intervals. Or maybe they were always there; honestly, if you ignore the large shiny helmets, which I've been doing my best to do, it's a bit difficult to tell a TSF officer from the regular guy.

But Eshe is very insistent that Batano needs protection, and seeing as she's the one with the large double-bladed vibrosword and quarterstaff, I don't really feel comfortable protesting too much.

And, as it turns out, I'm dead wrong.

At first they look like late-night cantina-goers who got kicked out after one too many last calls; large men stumbling around drunkenly in the shadows. If one of them wasn't using a vibrosword as a walking stick, I wouldn't have given them a second glance. But he is, and I do. Good thing too, because if I hadn't I wouldn't have noticed that one of his companions had a blaster rifle hidden behind his back, and that the other was sporting a tattoo on his forehead that was once popular among some of the commando units in the Sith forces. Mercenaries, or bounty hunters; or, as I like to call them, a huge freaking pain in my ass.

"Three o'clock," I mumble.

Eshe looks at her watch. "Really? I have quarter after."

I'm about to hiss at her when I notice that she's already noticed them- she's following their movements out of the corner of her eyes. The drunken trio stumble by us, and I let out a small sigh of relief. Obviously, hanging around Jedi is making me paranoid.

Then we round a corner and nearly collide with five more conspicuously armed thugs. The three we just passed stop acting drunk and close off our exit.

"Well, crap," Eshe swears, bringing her vibrosword up to bear. I follow suit with my blasters, and Kreia does the same with her vibroblade. Batano just sort of stands there, looking scared out of his mind.

So this is the Jedi we've heard so much about? The lead merc, a Rodian, clicks. You no look like much. Chewing too much spice, perhaps?

"Or not enough. It depends who you ask," Eshe quips back.

You catch boss' interest, he continues, as though she hasn't spoken at all. Boss willing to talk big money, if you want. You have choice. Hand over bounty, get good job. No hand over bounty, you become bounty.

"Okay, but let's change the deal a little; you go your way, I'll go mine, and no one gets hurt."

No possible.

"Sure it is," Eshe contradicts him with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We got to the station before you could intercept us. The intel was bad, and you didn't think it wise to start on all out assault on the TSF Station."

The Rodian's large eyes glaze over, as do almost all of his companions'; she's using a mind trick, a very _powerful_ mind trick, to convince them to go away without a fight. Clever.

Not going to work on the ex-Sith commando; we got training for that sort of thing.

I watch him in my peripheral vision. He knows what's happening, and is slowly shifting him weight towards Batano. Just as he pounces at the snitch, I wheel around and shoot, which places a nice-sized hole in the guy's shoulder. Unfortunately, it also has the effect of shocking all the other mercs out of whatever stupor Eshe's sent them into, and all hell breaks loose; those with blaster rifles raise their weapons, and those without backpeddle out of range of Eshe's double-bladed vibrosword.

Unfortunately, they've never seen her fight- they don't know that Eshe doesn't really have what can be traditionally described as a weapon's range. I'd noticed, somewhere in between the assassin droids and Sleeps-With-Vibroblades, that in a fight, Eshe is fast, flexible and aggressive. Her preferred method of disabling all those mad excavator droids was to rush at them, and then completely and utterly destroy them with several spins of her blades. She isn't the strongest person I've met, but she made up for it by hitting her opponent in so many places and in such a short amount of time that they weren't sure what hit them. I think one of the more humanoid droids actually looked down at her in confusion before exploding into a shower of sparks.

For me, this all just means I'm backpedaling too, dragging Batano with me for good measure. Eshe doesn't disappoint, and promptly beheads the Rodian, who wasn't quiet fast enough, and somersaulting in midair over his falling body to get at the others. Kreia is busy taking care of the two supposed drunks. She's better than I thought she'd be, but then again, she'd have to be to escape from Sleeps-With-Vibroblades. One of the thugs that snuck up behind us turns and runs in the direction of Czerka's module; I shoot him in the back. Eshe is fending off two vibroblade-wielding thugs at once, a fourth aims a blaster pistol at her head. I try to shoot him too, but the bolt goes wild and whizzes over his shoulder instead of hitting his head like I wanted it to. He ducks away from the main fight, taking cover behind a pillar. He starts taking pot-shots at everyone from his position, so I concentrate my fire on him. He's young, and his aim is less good than I feared. Unfortunately, he's good- very good- at dodging bullets. Probably he's a street kid, fresh off of Nar Shadaa or the Undercity or the Lower Levels of Corescant, probably this merc work seems pretty respectable to him, a step up in the world. If he wasn't currently trying his humble best to kill me, I'd feel sorry for him. As it is, I'm only going down this trail of thought because it means I know how he'll act if I aim a shot just above his head- he'll duck. He does duck, and then I aim just a tad bit lower and to the left and plant a bolt in his Adam's apple. He goes down; in the interim, so has the Aqualesh thug Eshe was grappling with earlier, and both of Kreia's. I shoot again, and the last of the thugs falls; Eshe stabs him through the sternum just to make sure.

"Everyone alright?" I call.

"I am uninjured." Kreia replies.

"I'm good. Next time we do this, remind me to tie my hair back though," Eshe says, pushing said hair back away from her face with a huff.

"I think I'm going to hurl," Batano moans.

"Because of what?" Eshe demands. For an answer, he points over to the ground where the Aqulesh lays, covered in the intestines of that goon Eshe'd gutted.

"Okay. That is kind of disgusting," Eshe admits. "But it's all over now. We'd better get moving; the TSF Station is still a long way off."

I grab Batano by the arm and step carefully over the various bodies. There's no TSF Officers in sight; I guess that's law enforcement at its best here. They hang around everywhere when you try to break into a body's apartment, and then are nowhere in sight when you get jumped on by a bunch of mercs.

Just as we're about clear of the bodies, one of them starts to groan. It's the Sith; he's still alive, and now he's conscious too.

"That one could pose a problem to us. Despite the forwardness of the Rodian, I sense the leader of this group is here," Kreia says.

Eshe moves over to him. "Then maybe he can give us some answers. Hey pal," she says, hauling the unfortunate man up by his collar. "Who sent you?"

He gargles for a moment, then croaks out. "General?"

Eshe freezes.

"General?" he repeats. "General Jiv-"

He screams, and his pupils dilate until they encompass his entire eye. She's… mind-raping him; I recognize the signs from the countless times I've watched the Dark Jedi I worked with occasionally.

"You will go to the medical center a get that shoulder looked at. You will tell the medic everything, and when TSF arrives, you'll go quietly," she intones. The man nods.

"I think I'll just go to the medical center, General," he echoes. "Don't worry, ma'm; I'll turn myself in right after."

"Good man, soldier," she answers, and lets him stagger off.

"It's Czerka, surprise, surprise," she informs us, breezing past Batano and I and standing nearer to Kreia. "What's really interesting is that Lorso gave him the orders herself. Apparently, the woman likes to play in the mud."

"She would appear to be a fierce opponent," Kreia comments.

"I've dealt with worse," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. I feel a prickle in the back of my mind, and frown; did she just try to use a mind trick on me? "C'mon, we still need to get to that TSF Station."

She walks away, followed by Kreia, who's shuffling again. Batano turns to me with a grin. "She really is a Jedi, isn't she?" he asks.

I grit my teeth, and haul him behind me as I follow the two women. Yeah Eshe's a Jedi alright; she has the manipulative, privacy-invading bit down to a tee.

~*~

Grenn is still in his office. Bleary-eyed and cranky, but still in his office. He glares at us as we walk into his office.

"We just got seventeen reports of gunfire, and eight nearly-hysterical calls reporting mutilated bodies, all from the walkway in between the entertainment module and Czerka's module," he snaps.

"We found Batano," Eshe replies, pushing said informant in front of her. "Czerka found us."

"My wife…" Batano begins hesitantly.

"She's fine," Grenn says. "She's under armed guard in one of the apartments on the other end of Citadel."

"See, I told you so," Eshe preens, pushing him towards Grenn. "We'll come back tomorrow. If I force him to stay up longer, Atton will murder me in my sleep."

Oh, she doesn't know how right she is.

Grenn motions to the door, adding before we leave. "Next time you do something like this, try not to leave any bodies where the kids can see 'em."

"I'll do my best," she promises insincerely, before sauntering out of the room.

She almost runs to our apartment, although she takes the long way, avoiding the Czerka module and, I notice, the bodies. She sprints that last several yards, and dashes through the door at an almost impossible speed.

It's not quiet fast enough to lose me, though.

"What the hell was that?" I demand.

"Nothing to be concerned about," she says with another wave of her hand. Before I'm really conscious of what I'm doing, I reach out and grab her wrist.

"Don't even think about it," I snarl. She hauls out and punches me in the gut. I let go instinctively.

"No, don't _you_ even think about it!"

"I'm not the one mind-raping people!" I wheeze, clutching my stomach. "I thought you didn't even remember how to do a mind trick?"

"I thought you didn't fight in either of the Wars?" she challenges. "I highly doubt that; you know too much, and you fight too well."

Okay, I'm man enough to admit; this is where I have a minor panic attack.

"I-what-me-she-" I splutter.

"Exactly," she says triumphantly. "You stay the hell out of my past and I'll keep away from yours."

She seems to consider the matter closed; I don't. It's a conditioned response really, not that that's much of an excuse. But I can't see a smug smile on a Jedi's face- that_ look_ like they have all the control over you and there's nothing you can do about it- without wanting to wipe it off. Painfully. Because the Jedi? They were wrong about a lot of things, and having control over us non-Jedi people was one of them.

"No deal," I grit out. "It's not fair to you; anything I want to know- or don't want to know- is probably on the holonet. That guy called you General- you fought in the Mandalorian Wars. It's enough to go on that if I go back a few years in the archives, I'm sure I could find out everything."

"Oh, it's fair," Eshe retorts, eyes flashing dangerously, "If I wanted to find out about you, I could just go straight to the source." She waves her hand again, but this time I can tell she's not putting any Force behind it.

"You could. You could also probably crush my windpipe, or fry me. But you're not going to because you're going to need my help, hot stuff, and if you so much as try, I'll know. And then you're going to be stuck trying to figure out how to fly. You need me."

"I don't need you," she scoffs. "I know how to fly; the Ebon Hawk's my ship, and I've been flying her for over three years. I own that ship, and I have all the credits. Newsflash, pal; you need me."

"Oh yeah? Well, I got a newsflash for you, _General,_" I sneer back. "I don't. I don't need you, and I sure as hell don't need to take any of your manipulative, Jedi crap."

And with that I storm out of the room, making sure to elbow the old crone on the way out. Hard.

~*~

It isn't long before I realize my mistake. Well, mistakes, really. The first one was letting her get to me. Yeah, she had tried to mind trick me, and there's no way in hell I should take that laying down, but it's not like it actually worked. Or could work on someone like me, anyway. When I get angry, I tend to do things I regret, like strangling people, or storming out of my apartment with only the clothes on my back. No worries. I've done that before. Atton's still here. I'm wearing the same clothes too.

I could go back, of course. They're probably both sleeping now, anyways. Pretty much every sane person on Citadel is sleeping at this time of night. And even if they were awake, what exactly am I afraid of? Two not-quite-Sith, two sort-of-Jedi; I've killed more than that. I've killed better than that.

Thing is though Eshe is… Eshe. She's not a Jedi; I'm not too sure she's a Sith. She's just… kind of scary in a post-apocalyptic way that reminds me a bit too much of Revan… and a bit too much of me. There's just something about her that's… I don't know. All I know is that I was stuck in one of the worst situations I've been in since I left the Sith, and now I find myself contemplating jumping back in.

Turns out I didn't need to have worried. Less than an hour passes before Eshe tracks me back to the cantina. Hey, where else do people go to contemplate their sucky, self-destructive relationships?

"You were right," she says without preamble, sliding into the seat across from me. "I do need you. If I have to deal with Kreia all by myself, the next thing you'll hear is that they found her half-baked body in an incinerator down by the industrial sector."

I don't reply.

"Of course, to be fair, I was right too. If you stay out of my past, I'll stay out of yours," she continues after a beat. "It's probably best for the remains of both of our sanities that way."

I still don't reply.

"Look, Atton, I've guessed some about what you did. And I know you've been trying to figure out my angle in all of this since we first met. Truth of the matter is, we're both here because we both don't have a choice, we both don't want to get involved, and we're both living for number one and no one and nothing else."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Whatever you were before all of this started, whatever I was- it doesn't really matter. We're both running from it, and there's no need to keep agonizing over it."

I nod agreeably.

"Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment?" Eshe demands. "Seriously? That's not going to work. You stop interrupting me and I'll just gab and gab forever about the unfairness of there being only female dancers in this place. Why is it that whenever you want to see a guy up on stage shaking his thing you have to comb the underbelly of Nar Shadaa? It'd probably be really popular, too. I know I'd pay good money to see a scantily-clad, well-formed male Zabrak."

I let to corners of my mouth twitch.

"Not going to work," Eshe repeats. "I'm not apologizing for the mind trick. It was the only Force Power I was ever any good at, and I'm damned proud of it. Besides, you totally deserved it for going through my stuff."

I think that might be as good as it's going to get. I don't think Eshe can get any closer to begging me to stay- or saying she's sorry.

"You told me I could."

"I said you could look at porn. Porn. If your definition of porn is four teenagers at a bar, you need to get out more. And get laid. Like, a lot."

"Is that an order General?" I ask.

"Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you?" she mutters.

"Of course. What sane person says no to sex?" I ask. She frowns slightly, confused, wondering if I'd just taken her up on her proposition.

"If you need me," I continue, leering. "Just follow the lekku."

And with that I waltz over to the dancer's break table; Eshe's outraged cry a few minutes later lets me know I've successfully stiffed her with the bill.

~*~

Oh. My. God. This was actually much longer, originally, but I decided to cut it off here because I noticed my page count had gotten up there. And also? I'm sorry, but I never did figure out where Batano was hiding in the game *blushes* So I took the information Wookiepedia had on him and sort of… embellished it from there.


	7. KOTOR2: In Which Mical Has A Bad Day

Today was not Mical's day.

Everything that could have gone wrong had, to date, done so. He had overslept. He didn't have any clean clothes left. The vibration cell had fallen out of his vibrosword. The salvagers had beat him to the enclave. He wasn't late enough to avoid the rush a laigreks returning home from a night of hunting. He had worked late last night and was tired, dammit, and the sight of a mercenary falling off the end of Master Vrook's lightsaber was more than he was prepared to deal with, especially since it was probably a sign that all that time he'd spent sifting through the archives had done little more than driven him insane.

He blinked. He rubbed his eyes. Nope, Master Vrook was still there, looking at him with his normal expression of annoyance he knew so well from his Padawan days, although the mercenary was now in a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Master.. Vrook?" he asked.

The older man rubbed his head tiredly, then waggled his fingers in a very familiar manner. "You do not see me, for I am not here."

"Right," he said cheerfully, then pointed to the dead mercenary on the floor. Oh, wait. Mercenaries. Oh joy and happiness, there were a bunch of mercenaries clomping around the Enclave now, on top of the salvagers and those thrice cursed laigreks. This was not his day. This may not even be his week. "Shall I pretend they're aren't there as well?"

Vrook glowered. It wasn't nearly as intimidating as it had been back when he had been a four foot tall Padawan, but still impressive. "I am not here," he repeated, moving his fingers in a slightly more forceful motion.

"Of course not, you're right over there," he replied.

"I am not-"

"Master Vrook, contrary to popular belief, we both know that the third time is not the charm. Why don't you save your strength for that gash I see on your arm?"

Master Vrook's frown deepened, but he did heal his arm. Mical took that as a sign that age may have mellowed the old man some.

May. That might just have been his rapidly waning optimism's death throes.

"Well... I suppose I owe you my thanks," Vrook began awkwardly. Mical shot him a questioning look. "Although I doubt it was your intention, your arrival distracted that thug long enough for me to finish him off."

"You are welcome," Mical responded automatically. Vrook nodded and made to move past him to the door. Mical cut him off.

"I'm not carrying anything of value on me," the old Jedi said wearily.

"I'm not looking for credits. I just- I want-"

He'd been dreaming of the day when he would meet with one of the Lost Jedi Masters; he had so many questions he wanted to ask them, so much he wanted to say. Now that the moment had finally come, however, he found himself at a complete loss for words.

"Where have you been? What have you been up to?" he managed finally.

"What?"

"You. The Lost Jedi- you can't all be gone. You must be doing... something," he finished lamely.

Vrook gave him a piercing look, and he felt a small prickle in his mind, something that had once been familiar and soothing, but was now alien and slightly uncomfortable.

"You know, in some circles it's considered impolite to touch someone's mind without their permission," he remarked conversationally.

Vrook snorted, "It's a good thing we're not part of those circles then."

He waited patiently for a moment, and when it became obvious that the older man was disinclined to continue, prompted him with "You are doing something about all this, right?"

"About all what?"

Mical almost gave him an incredulous look. Surely he wasn't serious? But, no, he was Master Vrook; he was nothing if not deadly, intensely serious. "Well, the galaxy is about to fall apart at the seams," he reminded him gently.

Vrook snorted. "Really? The entire galaxy?"

Mical frowned. Yes, he supposed that the only the Republic was really in trouble, and everywhere in the galaxy the separatist movements must be rejoicing, but the Republic, for all its flaws, had the greatest potential for galactic peace and unity, and had gone the farthest in providing the infrastructure for doing so. Surely that counted for something?

"Well, the Republic is in trouble," he amended. "Are you trying to repair that? Is that why you've come here?"

It was widely believed among those who still cared for the Jedi that if they were ever to reemerge from whatever places they were hiding, it would be done here, on Datooine. It was why he'd been so eager to accept this assignment when the Admiral had tasked him with recovering the information lost in the archives in the Enclave; he'd be the first to know if they returned.

"I have been on Datooine for some years now," Vrook admitted. "Trying to determine the nature of the threat we face."

Mical frowned. News of the destruction of Peragus had just reached Datooine, and whispers of the return of the Sith had followed almost immediately. Some said the Exile had destroyed the station; others asserted that another Dark Jedi, a Sith Lord who had escaped the carnage that followed the end of the Jedi Civil War was responsible. In either case, Telos, or perhaps even the remains of Peragus itself seemed a better place to go than here.

"You don't believe the Sith are coming here, surely," he asked. "This planet is already destroyed. There is almost nothing left."

Except what is contained in the Enclave, the symbol of the Jedi's power, and hope for their return. And even that is slowly but surely being stripped away, despite his best efforts. The archives remained relatively untouched until this morning, thankfully, but the training rooms, the meditation centers, the council chambers had all been pillaged beyond any hope of recovery, and the building itself is crumbling.

"There is enough. If they can defeat what remains of the Jedi here, it will be a victory over everything we stand for. And should they obtain even a fraction of the wisdom contained within these walls..."

Mical shuddered at the thought, then stopped, as one even more horrible occurred to him. There was knowledge Master Vrook considered dangerous here, information he wanted very desperately to keep out of enemy hands. The safest route of action would be to destroy the archives; but surely Master Vrook wouldn't partake in anything so drastic as...

"Master Vrook," he said slowly, tampering down on his panic. _There is no emotion... _"What were you doing in the archives this morning?"

"Ensuring the Jedi rest safely," he answered evasively.

Oh Force no. He wouldn't. After all that time he'd spent decrypting the archives, after all that time he'd spent painstakingly preserving every shred of Jedi wisdom he came across, Vrook simply couldn't come out of hiding for the sole purpose of undoing all of his work.

But one of the consoles behind him is powered up and working. The holocrons he'd enshrined on the center shelf- Master Gupta's discourse on attachments, Master Wenutu's seminar on lightsaber make and use, Master Sunrider's lecture on the darkside and redemption, Master Nemo's commentary on rank and accountability, Master Herod's musings on warfare and transitioning back to peace afterwards- are on the floor in pieces, their central crystals cleaved neatly in half. It is painfully, painfully obvious that he would.

Blood rushed through his ears, and pounded through his veins and for the first time in nearly two decades he felt the return of his all-consuming temper. The last time he had been so angry, his family had just been slaughtered; he had mistakenly attacked his rescuers. Thank the Force he now had years and years of self-discipline to fall back on, or he would have fallen off the edge and tried to gut the older man.

"Are you aware," he began, as calmly as he could possibly manage, keeping he breathing slow and deep. _There is no emotion, there is peace._ "What it is you have just undone?"

"So you're the one who's been working here," Vrook commented blandly.

"Yes," Mical replied, walking over to the computer console and hitting the abort option.

_Task 62% complete. Do you really want to quit?_

He hit the yes key. His anger receded, leaving numbness in its place. _62%_...

Some of that was doubtlessly backed up on his datapads. Some of that was doubtlessly in the archives in the Temple on Corescant. Some of that he doubtlessly remembered from his childhood. Most of it was doubtlessly lost forever.

"Yes," he repeated. "I've been trying to preserve the Jedi, so that they do not die when we do."

Vrook huffed, shaking his head slightly. Mical felt his temper flare again, but beat it back ruthlessly. Now, more than ever, when they had just lost so much, it was important that he be a true Jedi.

Even if no one would ever know it but himself.

"It's better that this knowledge be lost forever than used by our enemies," Vrook consoled him.

"I am afraid I must respectfully disagree with you," Mical countered dispassionately. "And ask you to leave."

Vrook opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off as the door swung open, revealing several more mercenaries.

~*~

He woke up in a heap on the floor, a trickle of dried blood running from his hairline down his head. One of the mercenaries must have gotten in a lucky shot. He rose shakily to his feet, and concentrated, using his one meager skill in the Force- healing- to close the wound completely. More dead mercenaries littered the floor, but neither Master Vrook nor his body were in sight. He should feel worried; it's obvious that not all the mercenaries are dead, and Master Vrook would have at least healed his wounds before leaving, so that meant he'd been captured.

He can't really bring himself to care. Not when there's only 38% of the archives left, and the broken remains of the few holocrons he'd managed to save from the salvagers.

The holocrons...

Mical studies the remains on the floor. He probably shouldn't feel so bereft, but those holocrons had been the best hope for resuscitating the Order he had found. They had been his comfort when he'd begun to doubt whether he was making a difference.

Master Gupta was a female Togrutan master who live nearly a millennia ago, at the time of the Great Hyperspace War. The hologram itself was grainy, and her dialect of Basic was sometimes difficult to understand, but there was such_ truth_ in her words. Her's had been the first holocron he'd found, tucked away in a secret compartment that had fallen partially open during the bombardment; she had sparked a deep hope that he would one day find enough of holocrons that even if the Lost Jedi never returned, the Order could still rise again. However, he could see why the Masters had, in later years, decided to cloister her wisdom away. She was very open in her endorsement of love and attachments to fellow Jedi, going so far to suggest that such bonds could prevent the fall of a Jedi, or bring one back from the darkside. She herself had married, and had children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, all of whom followed her along the path of the Jedi, and all but one of which remained wholly on the light. She had been very old when she made this holocron, and had often told him stories involving her family, and once told him the he reminded her of her oldest grandchild.

Master Wenutu's was more recent; he had been surprised when, after repairing the thankfully superficial damage the holocron had suffered, he activated it and was able to recognize her as one of the Masters who had left the Order with Revan. Her holocron was more real, as well; it had so much personality, and, perhaps more than that, _curiosity_ about the time she was activated in. It had gotten to the point where she had refused, point blank, to tell him anything until he stammered out an abbreviated version of the Mandalorian Wars and the Jedi Civil War. The holocron had appeared to pale beneath her Kiffar tattoos at the news, and then announced that her programming included a doomsday scenario similar enough to what he had told her that it had been triggered.

"From now on, there aren't any restricts to the questions I can answer for you," she had said, still looking shaken. From then on, their discussions had been highly detailed and nuanced, and covered not only forms of lightsaber construction and combat (of which there were endlessly more than he would have supposed) but methods for using the Force. He had been surprised to learn that she had struggled just as much with connecting with the Force as he had, and was able to offer some tips, should he ever decide to open himself up to the Force again.

Master Sunrider had reminded him of Bastila Shan; frankly, he had mixed feeling about that at first, but along with her self-important, slightly spoiled, character, she had a sense of humor and rebellion that his peer had lacked for most of the time he'd known her. Her stories were interesting and showed the kinder side of the villains (and the nastier side of the heros) than was represented in the history texts. It was very obvious that she had been even younger than he was during the majority of the events; she made frequent references to noises and smells that made him suspect that she had been ordered to keep her eyes shut. Her hair had hung down her back in a long, thick braid, and she had a habit if flinging it over her shoulder whenever she spoke about either Ulic Qel-Droma or her mother, sometimes so violently he had ducked instinctively as it came flying towards his head. She had been not much older than he when the holocron had been recorded, and it showed in her temperament and explanations; strangely, though, this was comforting. It helped that one of the greater Jedi Masters had once been even more awkward and unsure as himself.

Master Nemo was another familiar face, having taught at the Enclave on Datooine during his years as a Padawan, and been the Master of the Exile. His holocron was more a comedic monologue than anything else, full of stories, anecdotes and allegories, that reminded him fondly of Jolee Bindo's reports. They had been old friends, along with Vrook, Zhar, and a few others who had grown into distinguished Masters and legends, and the holocron told him many long, rambling tales about their adventuring days leading up the Exar Kuun Wars- and a few shorter, sad ones from during and after. His idea that rank was a burden, and something not to aspire to, but be resigned to, was an intriguing one, and the holocron's interactive features were such that he could debate this theory with the program for as long as he could afford to do so.

Master Herod's was the oldest holocron he had found by far, predating the Great Hyperspace Wars, and possibly the Sith themselves. His talk had made repeated references to an ancient war against an enemy who had lost themselves in the 'evil ways', and talked about how to not lose oneself to the same entity, or, failing that, escape from its clutches. He was a Selkath, and although Mical could understand that language, the archaic dialect made his words frustrating to follow. His translation may have been off. He hadn't despaired, though; there were plenty of people whose language skills were better than his own, and he'd understood enough of the language to know that the holocron contain information of great historical significance for not only the Jedi, but the Republic as well.

Now, it didn't matter. None of it mattered: the holocrons were dead, and all of the plans he'd made, the secret dream of rebuilding the Order on the wisdom those Masters had left behind, so that it was less isolated, less aloof, less ineffective... they were likely dead too.

The sounds of movement brought him back to the present; some one- no, three some ones, and at least one of them with blasters was moving outside the door, battling their way through the laigreks. He also heard the unmistakable whoosh of Force Whirlwind- there was a Jedi among them, probably Master Vrook, escaped from the mercenaries and wanting to finish what he started.

He turned around to face the door, and, just as it swooshed open, gave a sardonic bow.

"Thanks for the polite bow," said a feminine voice- not Master Vrook then. "You must be a gentleman."

He looked up, and nearly doubled over again in shock. Yes, it definitely wasn't Master Vrook. Actually, she had once represented what was good and noble about the Jedi, to his mind, while the elderly Master had always symbolized what was overly cautious and stolid. It was the Exile, his once future Master, returned at last.

This was _really_ not his day.

~*~

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away- or so seemed to Mical- he had been curious Padawan bent on becoming a Jedi of the caliber of Revan, Kavar, Jolee, or even Nomi, and _she_ had been a rebellious young woman, newly knighted and still spending much of her time hanging around the Enclave, waiting for the Council to assign her missions more exciting than trying to 'patch up the rift between the Sandrals and the Matales'- slang for cataloguing the archives, a near impossible task. She had often offered to teach lessons for the older Masters and Vrook, much to his ire, was no exception to this tendency.

She had taught them to listen to the Force, explained it with such clarity- such poetry- that, for the first time in his short apprenticeship, he had been able to open himself to the Force with no problem at all. And he'd known, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that she was to be his Master. He couldn't become a Padawan yet- for one thing, she needed at least a year's worth of Knighthood before she could take anyone on as a learner, and he had yet to complete the prerequisites. But from that day on, they had met many times in the context of a Master-Padawan relationship; she had given him datapads to read, whetted his interest in the Force, and helped him work through the lingering anger the still shrouded him in the wake of his family's death. He had worshiped her, often waiting for her to return from missions at the space-ports, and helping her with her work in the archives.

It was supposed to be the start of something wonderful, something long-lasting and happy; it was not, however, to be.

The Mandalorians had invaded the Republic. Revan's campaign to join the battle was, perhaps, the least successful one she had ever mounted- her objectives were never attained in full, and the results tore apart the Order she had once been the crown jewel of- peers who had known each other since they were youngling denounced one another, Masters abandoned their Padawans, Padawans fled from their Masters in the dead of night, and Knights refused to listen to the wisdom of the Council and left the Order in droves. Looking back, it is very easy to see how it developed into the Jedi Civil War. Although his age had spared him most of the gory details of the Madalorian Wars, he could very clearly recall the feelings of bitterness and animosity that had permeated what had previously been a serene and safe environment.

He had been among those left behind, and as the Council began to censor their pupils more and more, he had found himself cut off from the Jedi. He supposed in some ways it was a mercy- he had been spared the bombing of Datooine, and the subsequent slaughter of all surviving Jedi, and had been given the opportunity to study at one of the finest medical academies on Corescant and become a part of Admiral Onasi's intelligence gathering syndicate. He had been so sure that this had all been because the Force had needed someone in his position- someone who had been raised by the Jedi and had since then walked the path of an ordinary person, someone who could help the Order be rebuilt upon its most solid foundations.

Chaos, yet Order. His preference for the older version of the Code might be unpopular, but he held that belief to be true. The Jedi were there for the protection and structure when the galaxy fell to pieces, as it was wont to do every half-century or so. Not to flinch away for fear of falling- not to fear falling so much that they would allow the whole of the galaxy to do it in their stead.

Today, he was not sure of anything anymore. Except that it had been an exceptionally bad day- and sadly, it appeared to have just begun.


End file.
